<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) by jewboykahl, thelotusflower</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29842623">Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewboykahl/pseuds/jewboykahl'>jewboykahl</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelotusflower/pseuds/thelotusflower'>thelotusflower</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>South Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Fluff, Friendship, Happy Early Birthday Kenny!!, Humor, Lmao we got carried away, Long, M/M, One Shot, Paintball, Romantic Comedy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 22:55:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,590</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29842623</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewboykahl/pseuds/jewboykahl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelotusflower/pseuds/thelotusflower</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For Kenny's 19th Birthday Stan brought a childhood fantasy to life; a all-out game of paintball assassin. Two teams, eighteen friends (and Cartman), and one goal - to be the last man standing and earn a free dinner for your whole team, paid by the losing team. Stan prays everything will go accordingly so Kenny has fond memories to hold onto when they head separate ways after graduation - but, of course, it doesn't.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kyle Broflovski/Craig Tucker, Stan Marsh/Kenny McCormick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hey yall!! so... this is a lot<br/>i had SO much fun writing this with my amazingly talented and awesome super best friend Lotus !! i admire u so much and i cannot express how fun this was<br/>this is an early birthday present for Kenny which was meant to be posted on March 22 but... we got carried away and finished it nearly a month early!!<br/>i hope you enjoy!!!<br/>-jbk</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Are you sure this is safe?” Karen inquires, examining the clip from a paintball gun, loaded with various colored pellets.</p><p> </p><p>Kenny cranes his neck around from the passenger's seat to shoot her a smirk. “Well it don’t <em> tickle </em>, but it’s non-lethal.” </p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes and automatically looks to the driver for a better explanation. Stan senses this and says, “It kinda just feels like a bee sting.” </p><p> </p><p>“Great…” </p><p> </p><p>“If you’re scared we can leave you in the car.” Kenny offers sarcastically as he twists back into a more comfortable position. </p><p> </p><p>Karen gestures with her free hand, “Is a crime to be concerned? You used to come home with welts,” </p><p> </p><p>Kenny snorts, “That’s just ‘cause Cartman would shoot me point-blank.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan grimaces at the memories. “And we let him come along <em> why </em>?” </p><p> </p><p>Kenny shrugs and chuckles. He doesn’t care who comes along today—he is just <em> ready </em>. He nearly passed out from the unprecedented rush of serotonin he received a week ago when he finally convinced Stan to spill his secret plan for his birthday. They had been flirting with the idea of an all-out game of paintball assassin at this creepy, abandoned mall (which probably failed due to being situated in a secluded offshoot of mountain-lined highway) that they always pass heading up to Denver. Now it is finally happening, and Kenny could not think of a better way to liven the boring age of 19. </p><p> </p><p>“Besides, I can’t ditch Trish! I basically bribed her to do this with me.” Karen adds as she sets the paintball weapon in the pile with nine others in the box beside her. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, and we made sure you and your girlfriend are on the same team.” Kenny jests, sure he earned a pointed glare from the teenager behind him. </p><p> </p><p>“We should have put her and Craig on the other team. Five minutes with each other and we have two enemies taken care of via friendly fire,” Stan points out humorously. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that reminds me—give me your phone to send out the teams to everyone,” Stan leans back to slip a hand into his front pocket, extracting his iPhone. He replaces it in Kenny’s grasp and receives a wink, “Thanks, baby.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan grins back and returns his stare to the stretch of mildly traffic-ridden highway. He does his best to relax and enjoy the mere fact that he is not at school on a Thursday but he is extremely stressed about this endeavor going smoothly. Months of brainstorming and planning can only take you so far with the group of assholes he’s working with—also known as sixteen of their closest friends. </p><p> </p><p>And Cartman.</p><p> </p><p>“What?!” Karen suddenly exclaims after receiving the group message her brother had sent out. “I’m not on your team?!” </p><p> </p><p>Kenny shifts to scrutinize her genuinely affronted expression, trying not to laugh. “Don’t take it personal, baby sis, Stan used a randomizer app.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you and Stan being on the same team is <em> so </em> random.” Karen grumbles.</p><p> </p><p>Kenny sends Stan a sly smile. “Totally random.”</p><p> </p><p>Stan returns the smile and peers back at Karen through the rear-view mirror, “You have Kyle and Bebe on your team, at least!” </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t patronize me, Marsh. Also on my team is <em> Cartman </em>.” </p><p> </p><p>Kenny chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t make the rules.” </p><p> </p><p>“You kiddin’ me? You <em> literally </em> made the rules.” Karen groans, crosses her arms over her chest. </p><p> </p><p>“Relax, you’re gonna be fine,” Kenny assures, staring out the window when the environment becomes familiar. Their friends spent a few long days exploring the abandoned mall, each time Kenny clowning off with Stan and Cartman while Kyle and Butters worried they would be caught by police or murdered. He feels immensely lucky to have someone like Stan not only understand his desire to use the space or a colorful war, but also actually make it <em> happen </em>. His boyfriend is pretty kick ass. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck!?” Kyle exclaims from the passenger seat, furrowing his eyebrows at the phone screen in his hand. “Those assholes put me with Cartman!”</p><p> </p><p>Craig side eyes him, taking his stare off the road momentarily. “What? They send the teams or something?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yup,” Tricia answers. “And you’re on the losing team, Craig,” Tricia says from the backseat, leaning over the middle console to address her brother.</p><p> </p><p>“What does that mean.”</p><p> </p><p>“It means that you’re not on my team — or your boyfriend’s for that matter,” she smirks, slinking back into her seat. “But as long as I’m with Karen, and can take you down — I’m happy.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re going to be out within the first two minutes.”</p><p> </p><p>“I will not,” Tricia scowls, training her eyes at her brother.</p><p> </p><p>Kyle shifts his eyes between the two siblings as they fight, seething on the inside from his friends’ decision to ditch him and pair him with <em> Cartman. </em></p><p> </p><p>“I will make it my personal duty to do so,” Craig responds, holding up a middle finger towards her.</p><p> </p><p>She mirrors his actions, raising her middle finger as well. “You’re <em> terrible </em>at sports. Try again,” she lowers her eyes on him.</p><p> </p><p>Kyle turns to face the window in an attempt to hide his laughter, but fails, as Craig takes notice next to him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not terrible at them, I just don’t like them. There is a difference,” Craig decides he is done entertaining his little sister as he addresses Kyle instead. “So, we’re not on the same team, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>Kyle turns his attention to him. “No, you’re with Stan and Kenny,” Kyle says, “which makes it hard to believe that it’s all randomized like Stan said… <em> bastards. </em> I swear they are only doing this to me because I said playing in an abandoned mall was a bad idea.”</p><p> </p><p>“Most of the ideas you and your friends come up with are bad ideas.”</p><p> </p><p>“This was <em> not </em>my idea.”</p><p> </p><p>Craig shrugs and pats the other’s thigh. “You can’t win everytime, babe.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I’m still going to <em> win </em>,”</p><p> </p><p>Craig turns an eye briefly to his boyfriend, noting the unhinged look in his eyes and determination in his tone. While Craig is not normally competitive, he does enjoy messing with Kyle. “Don’t know about that — you’re with Cartman, and Tricia — I don’t know what the rest of your team looks like, but those two are definitely going to bring you down.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you, Craig,” Tricia says from the back. She leans against the passenger seat, resting her chin atop it. Her eyes shift to her brother, “don’t worry, Kyle, they are going down.”</p><p> </p><p>Kyle does not remove his slitted eyes off his boyfriend. “Oh I’m not worried. <em> They </em> should be the worried ones.”</p><p> </p><p>Craig ignores her, addressing Kyle again. “You’re the one who sounds worried, babe — complaining about being on a team with Cartman.”</p><p> </p><p>“Because he is <em> Cartman, </em>but that doesn’t mean we will lose.”</p><p> </p><p>Craig raises his lips in a small smile, eyes still on the road, as he says, “guess we will see, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>Kyle will <em> not </em> lose to Stan and Kenny — not after they forced him to be with Cartman. He will also not lose to <em> Craig </em> who, point blankly, is just pissing him off. “Yeah, you’ll see me take victory from the <em> sidelines </em>because I’m going to make you one of my first targets.”</p><p> </p><p>Craig’s smile rises further. “Gonna be hard to take me out if I get you first.”</p><p> </p><p>Kyle scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he faces forward instead of towards Craig. “Yeah, I’d like to see you try. It’s gonna take more than bare minimum effort to take me out.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, believe me,  it’s worth a little effort to see you go down,” Craig sends a smirk to the redhead beside him.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay — This is starting to gross me out.” Tricia once again sets herself between the middle console with a scowl painted to her face. “Please tell me we are almost there.”</p><p> </p><p>Craig turns his attention back to the road, smacking his lips together awkwardly with pink cheeks. He sort of forgot his dumb little sister was there.</p><p> </p><p>Kyle is the one who answers, staring at his phone, “just seven more minutes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank <em> god,” </em>Tricia huffs out.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Somehow Stan had convinced Kyle to help him scope the mall out a few days before the big paintball event to make sure there weren’t any active meth labs or homeless people in danger of exploding or getting shot with paintballs. Once they cleared the coast (only getting creeped out a <em> little </em>) they decided everyone would definitely need a flashlight even during the day, as the corners of the mall untouched by the glass-panel roof are incredibly dark. </p><p> </p><p>Kenny, Stan, and Karen are the first to arrive in the parking lot of the old shopping center. Kenny is <em> buzzing </em> ; it’s been awhile since he was this excited for something. He decked himself out in a ridiculous camo ensemble, complete with war-paint beneath his light brown eyes and a white wife-beater. Karen commented that the unusual pattern would likely make him stick out more in an indoor setting, but he assured her that is not the effect the outfits have on the mall map in <em> Call of Duty </em>. </p><p> </p><p>Kenny glances at his boyfriend after he’s put the car in park. He looks far less enthused. “You okay, Stanley?” </p><p> </p><p>Stan perks his head up towards his boyfriend, offering a quick and hopefully <em> reassuring </em>smile. “Yeah, yeah, I’m just excited.”</p><p> </p><p>He is excited but also nervous. Even though he and Kyle did a sweep the other day, he worries that there will be some wildcard of sorts to ruin the day. It seems like something is <em> always </em>ruining their plans. </p><p> </p><p>Though he is not entirely convinced, Kenny decides to accept the answer for the time being. The three duck out of Stan’s vehicle and begin to assess the equipment they brought while waiting for the other competitors. </p><p> </p><p>Kenny detects the second group as Craig’s car peels through the parking lot to a spot near them. He quirks an eyebrow at Stan, amused smirk crossing his lips, “Get ready for the wrath of Broflovski after findin’ out he’s on team Cartman.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan frowns, squinting at the beat up car coming their way. He places his hands on his hips as he glances to the blond. “I mean he did always choose his side as kids… and that was by his own choice.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t pretend you didn’t worship the Elven King when we were playing with the Stick of Truth,” Kenny snorts, “and who just lowkey worshiped Kyle in <em> general </em> . Still kinda <em> do </em>…” </p><p> </p><p>Stan scowls at his boyfriend, shaking his head. “No fucking way. I mean, yeah maybe the <em> Elven King </em> , but that was part of the game. We all did. I don’t worship <em> Kyle </em> though… besides, if I was going to <em> worship </em> anyone, it’d be you,” he sends a wink to his boyfriend.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m right here, ya know,” Karen says from behind them, knocking her hand against the hood of the car. “Just sayin’.”</p><p> </p><p>Kenny replies purposely loudly, feigning ignorance of Karen’s comment, “Oh you <em> do </em> worship me, baby. Just not in public.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan flushes, despite being the one who started it. Luckily, in that moment, Craig’s old sedan pulls into the spot next to them.</p><p> </p><p>They gather closer to Craig’s car as the others pile out. Karen runs over to Tricia with a broad smile. Craig greets them with a head nod and raise of his eyebrows, glancing at Kyle who already radiates the Broflovski wrath Kenny referred to earlier.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello <em> terrible friends </em>,” Kyle seethes instantly on connecting eyes with Kenny and Stan, who exchange knowing looks as the fired-up redhead continues, “who’s lame idea of a joke was it to leave me alone with Cartman and my ex-girlfriend?!” </p><p> </p><p>“If you’re talkin’ about Heidi, ‘girlfriend’ is a strong word, friendo,” Kenny quips—and it does nothing to soothe his friend’s temper.</p><p> </p><p>Kyle scowls past the blond, pointing a finger at him. “If today wasn’t March 22nd I would punch you.” </p><p> </p><p>Craig steps forward, grabbing his boyfriend’s hand to pull him back. “Alright, well it is, so… How about you just take a few steps back from the Birthday Boy, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>Stan cocks his head at his best friend. “Kyle, come on. It was random. It’s not like Cartman and Heidi are the only ones on your team.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that’s right! I forgot I was blessed with three fifteen year-olds to babysit as well!” Kyle snaps, then screws his eyes to Craig before jerking away, “Don’t pretend like we’re sympatico right now, Tucker. I haven’t forgotten about your goal of taking me down.” </p><p> </p><p>Tricia sends Kyle a glare. “Pretty ironic that you’re worried about babysitting us when you’re the one whining like a baby right now.” </p><p> </p><p>Kenny chuckles, pushing it though he’s well aware he’s playing with fire, “Interesting strategy to start off at odds with almost half of your team, Ky. Remind me again… do you <em> like </em> to lose?” </p><p> </p><p>Before a fight breaks out in the parking lot, Stan steps in, taking center amidst the group circle. “Okay, okay — that’s enough. We should get going though. There will be enough time for smack talk during the game… We need to get everything set up before everyone else arrives.”</p><p> </p><p>Stan directs the group to count the guns and flashlights, along with loading the guns and making sure the flashlights work. From his trunk, he pulls out a box of orange and blue bandanas he brought to distinguish the teams.</p><p> </p><p>Stan passes out the orange bandanas to his team, and then hands the blue to Kyle, Tricia, and Karen. As he does so, a Jeep Wrangler enters the parking lot and comes towards them. Stan recognizes it as Token.</p><p> </p><p>The Jeep Wrangler pulls into the spot next to Craig’s beat-up and old sedan, exemplifying just how old and beat up the sedan is.</p><p> </p><p>Clyde is the first to come out of the Jeep Wrangler; a wide grin on his face as he hops down from the passenger seat. </p><p> </p><p>He points to Kenny. “Happy Birthday, you beautiful bastard! Thanks for letting us share the day with you.”</p><p> </p><p>The birthday boy smiles back at their chirpy friend, pleased for someone who shared his enthusiasm. “Merci, mon beau ami. You ready to shoot people?” </p><p> </p><p>Clyde holds up finger guns. “I was born ready, bro.”</p><p> </p><p>Cartman and Token stumble out of the car next as Clyde gravitates towards Craig, who leans against Stan’s car with his arms crossed. “You see we are on the same team, dude? The <em> dream team, </em> back in action!” Clyde waves a hand in gesture in front of them. Then, as if on second thought, he eyes Kyle who stands beside them. “No offense.”</p><p> </p><p>“None taken?” Kyle responds with furrowed eyebrows.</p><p> </p><p>Craig huffs and pushes his best friend off of him. As Clyde stumbles away from the pair near the car, Cartman strides over with raised eyebrows and a smirk.</p><p> </p><p>“Looks like it’s time to bring out those Jewish space lasers, ay, Kahl?”</p><p> </p><p>Hardly having time to overcome his previous bought of fury, Kyle is forced to clench every party of his body in order to stop himself from landing a sucker punch across Cartman’s stupid, chubby face. He had been razzing him non-stop about George Soros’s plot to keep California on fire that a certain horrific congressperson concocted. Through grit teeth he addresses Stan: “Put me on the other fucking team.” </p><p> </p><p>“You need to relax, dude,” Kenny says with a short laugh, extending his arm to pat his enraged friend’s shoulder while leaning in to whisper, “I’ll hold him down for ya later.” </p><p> </p><p>Amused, Kyle allows himself to be temporarily calmed, knowing Kenny will keep his promise. </p><p> </p><p>“May I ask why you guys chose an abandoned mall?” Token cuts in, squinting the building ahead of them and then the empty parking lot around them.</p><p> </p><p>Craig just shakes his head in response, exhaling through his nose. “You shouldn’t ask.”</p><p> </p><p>Ignoring Craig’s comment, Stan takes the chance to explain. “Because it’s sweet! It’s like a creepy video game, or something, and we’d always talk about how we wanted to have a huge paintball game here as kids.”</p><p> </p><p>“It does oddly feel nostalgic of some of the stuff we did as kids,” Token says, eyes still on the building.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you mean <em> nostalgic </em>in the way they would drag us into stupid shit as kids? Because if so — agreed,” Craig says.</p><p> </p><p>Stan glares at him. “Shut up, dude. It will be fun.”</p><p> </p><p>“Craig’s just worried he won’t have anytime to give me birthday spankens.” Kenny teases, nudging his taller friend with his elbow. </p><p> </p><p>After just about everyone hands out off-put glares to Kenny, two more cars veer into the parking lot. One is Wendy’s Corolla housing the other three girls involved in the events, and Tweek’s dilapidated light blue Volkswagen beetle. Tweek and Jimmy are soon to join the congregation while the girls linger a while. Cartman groans, “Women always take for-fucking-ever to get out of the car. They’re probably les-ing out in there.</p><p> </p><p>As a collective eye-roll ensues, the final car pulls up, which belongs to the person it took a lot of convincing to participate in the day off school (even though Wendy, the student body president, set it up as a senior skip day as a present to Kenny). His parents adamantly refused to allow him to participate in the other few throughout the year, but he was going rogue for this event. </p><p> </p><p>As the vehicle veered closer, the presence of a passenger became more obvious. Kenny squints to discern their identity.  “I didn’t know Ike was coming to early,” </p><p> </p><p>Kyle snaps his head toward the vehicle at the comment. “What?” </p><p> </p><p>Moments later, the revelation came with Butters parking near the rest. The pair hopped out of the vehicle and greeted the group.</p><p> </p><p>“Happy Birthday, Ken!” Butters spouts, waving to the shorter blond. </p><p> </p><p>Kenny gives him a thumbs up, “Thanks, Leo.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ike, what the hell are you doing here?! Mom is gonna kill you! You weren’t allowed to skip!” Kyle exclaims as his younger brother approaches. </p><p> </p><p>“It’ll be fine! You worry too much, grandpa,” Ike waves him off before pointing to Kenny, “besides, I had to do something a little crazy and stupid in the spirit of Kenny’s birthday.” </p><p> </p><p>Kenny flashes a mischievous grin. “You did good, kid.” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m real sorry, Kyle! I hope I don’t get anyone in trouble!” Butters says with a frown. </p><p> </p><p>Kyle just shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it, Ike’s the one who’s gonna get his ass chewed out.” </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry, Ky, I’ll find a way to take you down with me.” His brother assures half-jokingly. </p><p> </p><p>Everyone turns their heads as the group of loud girls pile out of Wendy’s Corolla. Their attention is aimed at one another until Cartman addresses them with, “hey Wendy, how many lesbos does it take to figure out how to open a car door? I count four.”</p><p> </p><p>Wendy glares at him as she strides forward, hands landing on her hips as she stops in front of Cartman. “You know, Cartman, you talk a lot of shit for someone who only has their license because their mom slept with the instructor.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you, Wendy! She did not — I got it fair and square,”</p><p> </p><p>“Most people don’t get a call back the next day to say that the points were counted wrong, and they passed.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not my fault the driving instructor is shitty at math!”</p><p> </p><p>Wendy rolls her eyes. Before they can get any deeper into their tuft, Stan takes a hold of the group's attention, standing now on the roof of his car with a paint gun in hand.</p><p> </p><p>He fires a few shots off to the side, causing a few gasps and a scream from Tweek. Bebe scoffs loudly, hands over her ears, “Why the fuck did you do that?! We were literally all already looking at you!” </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t question him, blondie! Everyone clench up, Sergeant Stan has the floor,” Kenny snaps teasingly, then gestures to his boyfriend. “Take it away, sweetheart.” </p><p> </p><p>“At ease, honey,” Stan chuckles, then gestures diplomatically, “sorry, I just always wanted to get people’s attention like that. Anyway, thank you all for coming to Kenny’s birthday game of paintball assassin! Does everyone know what team they’re on?” </p><p> </p><p>Half of the participants groan in acknowledgement. Stan frowns, “I apologize to anyone who ended up with Cartman, it was all randomized.” </p><p> </p><p>“Bullshit,” Token huffs. </p><p> </p><p>“Ay! I’m gonna kick ass at this game! You’re lucky to have me on your team!” Cartman bellows in the direction of everyone, then gestures to the skinny blond beside him, “At least you won’t have to carry <em> Butters </em> on your back!” </p><p> </p><p>“Now, I’m gettin’ pretty sick of you saying I ain’t any good at paintball, Eric! I did really well when we were practicing with Nerf guns!” </p><p> </p><p>Stan spouts, “Do I need to shoot this thing again?” </p><p> </p><p>“God, no! Everyone shut up!” Tweek exclaims flinching at the prospect of another unprecedented <em> bang </em>. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, let <em> Rambo </em> speak.” Bebe deadpans, crossing her arms over her chest. </p><p> </p><p>Stan rolls his eyes then proceeds with his spiel. “The rules are pretty simple—it’s last one standing wins, and winner represents their whole team. Whatever team loses has to split the cost of dinner afterwards. If you get shot, you die. If you get paint on your clothes from someone else but you haven’t been shot, you need yourself and someone else to text the group chat so we know you aren’t cheating. Once we get in there, we’re gonna have <em> one </em> minute to spread out before it’s a free for all. Any questions?” </p><p> </p><p>Clyde raises a hand. Stan jerks his head towards him.</p><p> </p><p>“Is mayonnaise an instrument?”</p><p> </p><p>Stan shakes his head as Clyde begins to laugh at his <em>Spongebob</em> reference joke, and addresses the rest of the group. “Any <em> real </em>questions?”</p><p> </p><p>The group goes silent, turning their heads around to spot anyone with questions. However, no one raises a hand or speaks up.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, then,” Stan declares. “Let’s get this show on the road, huh? Orange team starts at the south entrance and Blue starts at the north. Both teams will send a confirmation text to start the game… I hope I can <em> trust </em> that <em> everyone </em>will heed to the rules,” Stan narrows his eyes onto Cartman.</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you looking at me? You should be looking at the poor boy next to you, or that asshole, <em> Craig.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Stan rolls his eyes and Carman’s comments go unacknowledged, “well if no one has any more questions, then - !”</p><p> </p><p>Attention goes from Stan to a minivan that pulls into the abandoned parking lot. </p><p> </p><p>Murmurs are sent around — trying to figure out who it could be as the minivan comes forward, revealing it is Scott Malkinson.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh shit, I thought everyone was here,” Stan murmurs.</p><p> </p><p>“Typical Scott Malkinson,” Cartman mumbles.</p><p> </p><p>Everyone watches as the minivan pulls into a spot and Scott Malkinson hops out, jogging toward them. </p><p> </p><p>“Whatever — someone explain the rules to Scott, and let’s get going,” Stan jumps off the car, lacing his hand with Kenny before striding forward, his team falling behind them.</p><p> </p><p>Scott hurries off behind Kyle and Cartman as the trudge their way towards the north entrance. It ends up being Kyle who catches him up.</p><p> </p><p>Craig, Clyde and Tweek trail loosely behind Stan, Kenny, and the rest of the blue team. As they arrive towards the south entrance, Tweek halts and says, “all right, let me suit up.”</p><p> </p><p>Clyde and Craig share a look, before Clyde asks, “what do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>Tweek furrows eyebrows between them, pulling a backpack off his shoulder. “I am not gonna get shot at in my bare skin! Are you guys crazy?”</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t hurt that bad, dude. You are psyching yourself out,” Craig declares, watching as the blonde pulls arm pads and knee pads out from his backpack. “Besides, aren’t you already wearing a bulletproof vest?”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you not? I said that I had an extra if you needed it!”</p><p> </p><p>“Dude, why do you have so many bullet proof vests?” Clyde asks.</p><p> </p><p>“My parents own a bunch! They made me wear one to school for a while. South Park has a really high murder rate, man.”</p><p> </p><p>Both of the others shake their heads as the blonde dresses himself up as if he is going to war, completing the ensemble with a helmet.</p><p> </p><p>“Dude — is that a Broncos helmet?” Clyde asks. “Why do you even have that?”</p><p> </p><p>“I like sports… Pete gave it to me as a birthday present last year.”</p><p> </p><p>“You keep presents from your exes?” Craig asks.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not going to throw away perfectly good gifts, Craig!”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, if you <em> do </em>,” Clyde smiles, elbowing the blonde, and raising an eyebrow, “let me know, I’m not above Dumpster Diving.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not throwing it out!”</p><p> </p><p>Stan pokes his head out the door to address them, “are you guys coming?” He asks. “Kyle sent the other text — they're ready.”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s already pretty pissed off, we shouldn’t keep him waiting,” Craig says, stepping towards the door that Stan holds open for them.</p><p> </p><p>Clyde and Tweek follow behind, and Stan rejoins by Kenny’s side.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>After flashlights, paintball guns, and bandanas were evenly distributed between their  teammates and they entered the mall through a questionable hole-ridden, previously automatic glass door, Kenny and Stan locked hands and sprinted full speed away. </p><p> </p><p>After the timer goes off, Stan pauses, sucking in heavy breaths as he sends out a message that read <em> Game on! </em>to the group chat. While Kenny catches his breath (which takes significantly longer due to his tobacco-damaged lungs), he familiarizes himself with the teams by viewing the text his boyfriend had sent out earlier.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> whaddup yall these are the teams and they were chosen randomly so no bitching even tho i kno u all r going to bitch </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Orange Team: Clyde, Butters, Craig, Wendy, Stan, Jimmy, Kenny, Ike, Tweek </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Blue Team: Bebe, Nichole, Scott, Tricia, Heidi, Karen, Cartman, Kyle, Token </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Kenny puffs out a loud exhale, capturing Stan’s attention. The shorter boy has now added an orange bandana to his ridiculous attire, and his dark war paint has already begun to smudge against his freckled cheeks. Stan grins at how stupidly adorable he is. Kenny waggles his eyebrows, “This is super romantic.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan laughs, squeezing his partner’s hand. “Anything for my baby… and now that we’re alone, I can tell the truth, I <em> did </em>tinker the teams just a little bit — just so we could be together.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm, you know I like a bad boy,” Kenny hums, bringing Stan’s hand to his lips and kisses, “who was originally with Cartman, then?” </p><p> </p><p>“You can’t tell Kyle, unless you want a dead boyfriend, but I was.”</p><p> </p><p>Kenny widens his eyes. “Did you bump Kyle from the team for yourself?” </p><p> </p><p>Stan smirks, holding a finger up to his lips. “Don’t say it too loud. We don’t know if he’s lurking around.”</p><p> </p><p>Letting out a laugh, Kenny peers around the corner. The mall would certainly be less creepy with some fluorescent lighting and a couple of kids running around. Adrenaline and joy bubble within his chest. He grins, “Thank you, Stan. For all of this. Cute and sweet is a rare combination but I sure found it.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan flushes, red taking hold of his face as he stares into the eyes of the boy he loves. All he wants is this to be the perfect day for him — a perfect memory for when they apart next year. Overwhelmed with gratitude, Stan lunges forward and captures his boyfriend’s lips for a quick kiss.</p><p> </p><p>When he pulls away, he smiles and says, “let’s win this.”</p><p> </p><p>A smirk curves Kenny's face  before he steals another peck on the mouth. The pair begin quietly creeping down the corridor while simultaneously listening for their peers and attempting to muffle the sound of their shoes against the dirt-caked linoleum. Kenny curiously peers into any shop that remains visible, finding mostly overturned furniture, garbage, or completely empty rooms. A healthy majority of the storefronts are boarded up or sealed off with pull-down gates. </p><p> </p><p>A <em> ping </em> from his iPhone draws Stan’s attention away from investigating an old Suncoast through a narrow opening in the dark paper used to impede onlookers. A message from the group chat causes his jaw to drop—and not the one where Bebe complained about a rat they saw. Stan verbalizes the information, “Tricia is out already,” </p><p> </p><p>“What?” Stan nods for confirmation as he watches a chat bubble come up from Clyde. An obnoxious few moments later and a Twitter link appears. Kenny squints over his Stan’s shoulder, “did they film it?” </p><p> </p><p>“I fucking guess so,” Stan scoffs and taps the link. The spotty reception causes another tiresome loading period before the couple is able to watch how a member of the opposing team already met her untimely end. </p><p> </p><p>Clyde’s narration is present through the video’s entirety and it is both loud and incomprehensible as he captures Craig running full-speed toward a group of girls, who are also screaming. Tricia’s screams drown everyone else out when Craig catches up with her and fires three shots into her torso. </p><p> </p><p>“Holy shit!” Clyde chortles as he backpedals. </p><p> </p><p>Tricia is gasping and glaring simultaneously and Craig lifts his paintball weapon toward Karen and Heidi. “See you later, ladies.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, shit!” Clyde exclaims after a vengeful shout falls from his little sister's mouth. He films Craig and himself swiftly backpedaling then speeding away. The video’s caption reads “CRAIG TUCKER IS A FUCKING SAVAGE !!! #NotClickbait”. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, Craig runnin’ and showing initiative is certainly new but I gotta say, it is not comforting,” Kenny shakes his head. “Good thing he’s orange.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan nods. “Definitely did not predict him to be the first to get someone out, but if anything this proves how petty he is.”</p><p> </p><p>Kenny snorts, “didn’t need any evidence to prove that.”</p><p> </p><p>Stan does his best to quiet his laughter as they continue down the dark corridors of the empty mall. With a swing of his flashlight, he spots an old Hot Topic, windows smashed and broken. He hears something rustling around, but he can only assume that it is a rat.</p><p> </p><p>He scans the flashlight over the area, and his heart nearly stops when he spots Token, sitting on what used to be a running fountain. The running fountain was now empty and covered with graffiti-drawn penises.</p><p> </p><p>Stan shuts the flashlight off, and holds his hand out in front of Kenny to prevent him from walking forward. “Token,” he hisses.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh <em> shit </em>—,” Kenny grins, eyes adjusting in the dark and setting on the figure on the fountain. “You think he saw or heard us?”</p><p> </p><p>“Doesn’t look like it — he’s just sittin’ there on his phone.”</p><p> </p><p>“We should go about this objectively, we don’t —,”</p><p> </p><p>But before Stan can finish his sentence, Kenny begins to run forward, gun aimed at Token. As he nears closer, he begins to shoot, knocking the poor bastard in the chest.</p><p> </p><p>Stan breaks out into an amused laugh as he rushes forward to stand beside Kenny. Token frowns at them both. “Dude, come on, you got paint on my phone.”</p><p> </p><p>“You knew the risks, dude,” Kenny says.</p><p> </p><p>Token huffs out through his mouth as he stands up. “It’s so <em> shocking </em>that I didn’t make it to the end.”</p><p> </p><p>Stan shrugs, cupping his shoulder, “don’t be a cry baby about it.”</p><p> </p><p>Token shakes his head and walks off, sending a message to the group chat that he has been shot by Kenny. As he walks off, Stan and Kenny exchange a smile and Stan gives his boyfriend a high-five. Kenny slaps his hand with a scrunched up face and wide smile. “Two down — seven to go.”</p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“Damn, black guy <em> would </em>die first,” Cartman reads the new message on his phone aloud. “It’s such a shame that we live in a world where black people get shot so often. I can’t believe Kenny would do that to Token.”</p><p> </p><p>Kyle rolls his eyes at the comment, eyes scanning around the floors below them. They decided to scout the area from the third floor. It would most likely be hard to hit anyone from up here, but at least they would get a sense of where people were.</p><p> </p><p>“We need to get it together. We already have two people down.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, that’s what happens when you get paired with all the girls and minorities —,”</p><p> </p><p>Cartman shuts up as a punch collides into his shoulder. “Ow, Kahl! We’re on the same team.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, more so the reason I need to destroy Stan.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re so fucking gay. This is why you’re so bad at everything, you get your emotions in the way too much.”</p><p> </p><p>Kyle blinks. Although he hates Cartman with every ounce of his being, he wonders if he has a point. “Can you just be on the lookout?”</p><p> </p><p>Cartman groans, eyeing the ground below them. He squints his eyes, the sunroof shining a ray of light amongst the area by the food court. He spots some shadows coming from inside the food court; movement from within.</p><p> </p><p>He sends a text to his own team, asking if anyone’s inside the food court. When he receives a negative in response, he tells Kyle it is time to make a move.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>In the food court, Ike stumbles upon two figures by the abandoned Taco Bell. The first, he makes out as his brother’s boyfriend, while the other appears to be his stupid best friend.</p><p> </p><p>As he nears closer, he catches bits of their conversation, and Craig’s eyes. Clyde, however, still stares up at the Taco Bell, hands sprawled out on the service counter.</p><p> </p><p>“Why? Why do they do this to you? How could anyone leave you like this?” Clyde whines. </p><p> </p><p>“What are you dorks doing?” Ike asks, furrowing his eyebrows at the pair. </p><p> </p><p>“Clyde’s about to make a shrine.”</p><p> </p><p>Ike sends a narrowed stare to the other male and then back at Craig. “That doesn’t seem like an effective way in getting my brother out.”</p><p> </p><p>Craig smirks, then sends a scowl to Clyde. <em> “It doesn’t </em>— Clyde let’s get going. This is a waste of time.”</p><p> </p><p>Clyde sniffles in response, kissing three of his fingers and pressing them to the counter. “I’m sorry, baby, he’s right — I gotta move on,” he takes a step away from the counter.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Anyways </em>. I was thinking I could team up with you to get him,” Ike declares.</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t say no to a proposition like that,” Craig shrugs. “Besides, don’t tell him I said this, but I have a feeling he’ll be a pain in the ass to take out.”</p><p> </p><p>Ike chuckles, “I think you're putting too much faith in him. You can practically hear him from a mile away.”</p><p> </p><p>“I bet that gets in the way, huh, Craig?” Clyde smirks, nudging him in the ribs. Craig scowls at him in response, while Ike scrunches his nose up in disgust.</p><p> </p><p>Craig inhales, addressing Ike again with slightly flushed cheeks. “You got a point there, kid.”</p><p> </p><p>Then, as if the universe wanted to prove his point, they hear a set of voices. As the voices near, it is clear that they are fighting, and belong to Kyle and Cartman.</p><p> </p><p>Wordlessly, Craig goes to hide behind the counter of <em> Taco Bell, </em>Clyde and Ike following behind him.</p><p> </p><p>The voices and steps steadily grow louder, until eventually, they come to an abrupt stop; signaling that they most likely were within the confines of the food court.</p><p> </p><p>Ike, Craig, and Clyde eye each other as they listen for movement. Within a couple seconds of waiting, they nod at one another and shoot up.</p><p> </p><p>Within a few seconds, they lock eyes onto their opponents. Kyle is the first to shoot, but misses, hitting the bottom off the counter. The Orange team has the obvious advantage, with the counter in front of them and it being three against two.</p><p> </p><p>Ike and Craig both go for Kyle, while Clyde goes for Cartman. After a couple rounds of shooting, Cartman gets a shot at Ike, the younger teen grunting at the hit.</p><p> </p><p>Clyde and Cartman throw fire at one another, as do Kyle and Craig. He lowers himself, along with Clyde, so they are mostly covered by the counter.</p><p> </p><p>Cartman and Kyle step closer in retaliation, and Craig misses Kyle by a half of an inch.</p><p> </p><p>Thinking of what Cartman said before about letting his emotions blind him, Kyle draws in a breath, and says, “Cartman let’s go — they have too much cover. We’ll get him — them, later.”</p><p> </p><p>To everyone’s surprise, Cartman listens to him, and they run out of the area together. Once they are gone, Clyde and Craig slide down behind the counter and face Ike who took a spot on the floor already.</p><p> </p><p>Craig eyes the dark haired boy with a frown. “Sorry that those assholes got the best of you.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay, I’ll just annoy Kyle at home,” Ike shrugs as he sends a text to the group chat to send a signal that he is out. He lifts his eyes at Craig after, “but you have to beat him. You know how annoying he is when he wins.”</p><p> </p><p>Craig could argue that he is <em> much </em>worse when he loses, but he still nods. “It’s truly the only thing I care about in this game — that and killing Tricia, which I succeeded at.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Beast!” </em> Clyde says in a lower tone, covering his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Craig does not care if his team wins or loses. All he cares about is getting Kyle <em> out. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> - </em>
</p><p> </p><p>With a glance at her phone, Wendy sees it’s been <em>three</em> <em>hours</em> of trudging around the creepy scenery with Butters and Jimmy. The trio has been weaving in and out of back offices and hallways to hide the sound of Jimmy’s crutches—which clearly has been an effective strategy. </p><p> </p><p>“Ike is out.” Wendy announces to the others before slipping her phone into the back pocket of her skinny jeans.</p><p> </p><p>“Saw that c-coming when he called his brother <em> grandpa </em>.” Jimmy giggles, eyeing Wendy when they take a pause and catch their breath. </p><p> </p><p>She snorts in agreement, “Yeah, even if Kyle sucks at something, sheer will and unnecessary anger will take him at least ¾ of the way there. Which is why I always rile him up about politics before Decathlon meets.” </p><p> </p><p>The pair share a short laugh before turning their concerned attention to Butters, whose eyes are far and gun pointed at the ceiling. He grins wildly when he feels attention on him, “Kyle can take me out all he wants as long as I get Eric.” </p><p> </p><p>Jimmy coos, “Cartman’s smack talk g-get to you?” </p><p> </p><p>The blond stamps his foot and gestures with his free hand, “I was runnin’ circles around him when we were practicing and it really pissed him off. So he was acting like a sore loser all week and kept tellin’ everyone I’m gonna be out first. Well, clearly that ain’t the case! And I intend on shooting him right in his smug face.” </p><p> </p><p>Wendy smirks, nodding her head. “I truly hope you do and Clyde records it.” </p><p> </p><p>“That would be a lot more satisfying to see than Cr-Craig mowing down his little sister,” Jimmy adds. </p><p> </p><p>“Shh, I hear something,” Wendy warns them suddenly as a cackling noise approaches. The three bundle together, provided cover in a narrow corridor where a boarded up restroom resides. When the noise ceases, she peeks her head over the side and sees nothing. “Alright, let's move on.” </p><p> </p><p>As she is escorting Jimmy, the cackling sound returns, followed by a “Fire!” </p><p> </p><p>Suddenly four figures hop out from either side of the stores down the hallway. Wendy quickly draws her weapon and Jimmy does the same—but Bebe has the drop on her. A stinging sensation invades her chest after she hears an <em> Oof </em> from Jimmy. She peers down at the blue splatter on her old, grey sweatshirt, “Shit, B! You shot my boob!” </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, Wends!” Her blonde friend chuckles, galloping toward her, Nichole, Heidi, and Karen following. She grins, “We wanted to get you out so you could hang with us!” </p><p> </p><p>Pleasantly surprised by the outcome of her death, she nods, “Honestly, thank you, I can’t believe how long this is taking! Let me just walk Jimmy to Token's car and I’ll meet up with you.” </p><p> </p><p>“Let’s just go with them. This place is really freaking me out.” Nichole suggests, giving a shiver for effect, and everyone agrees. </p><p> </p><p>She whips out her cell phone again and sends her death text, Jimmy doing the same. It is then she notices a missing member. “Where the hell did Butters go?” The group peers around, unsure of the answer. Wendy shrugs, “He probably ran off. He’s pretty hell bent on taking Cartman out.” </p><p> </p><p>“Good,” Heidi says with a high pitched huff and the six head out toward the parking lot. </p><p> </p><p>“Does anyone know where Tweek is, by the way?”</p><p> </p><p>__</p><p> </p><p>Tweek has been hiding behind a long-forgotten trash cart on the top floor ever since he was traumatized by the video of Craig assassinating Tricia, and all of the screaming solidified his fear of the paintballs feeling like real bullets. </p><p> </p><p>__</p><p> </p><p>“Damn it,” Stan sighs before locking his phone again. “they’re in the lead now.” </p><p> </p><p>“Who kicked the bucket?” Kenny asks. </p><p> </p><p>“Wendy and Jimmy.” Stan whirls around to address his partner, narrowing his stare when he finds the blond lighting a cigarette, “Ken, you can’t smoke in here!” </p><p> </p><p>Kenny takes the cigarette between his fingers and puffs out a cloud of white smoke. He glances around sardonically, “Well, I don’t see Paul Blart anywhere, so I think I’ll be fine.” </p><p> </p><p>The other boy concedes to this point with a shrug and continues creeping along the bottom floor. The pair has found access to a set of long forgotten emergency stairs that despite being riddled with grime and dust effectively conceal them from the other players (which Kenny repeatedly assured would be used to make out in private if the game did not end anytime soon). Stan wagers it will be a while considering only 5 of 18 individuals have been eliminated thus far. </p><p> </p><p>“You wanna hear my prediction?” Kenny offers as he bustles beside Stan, both clinging to the side of an empty video store. When Stan shrugs, he continues, “It’s gonna come down to Craig and Kyle and neither one of them are gonna give each other the satisfaction of bein’ the winner until Craig gets sleepy at 8-PM and let’s Kyle have it. At which point, Craig ends up <em> winning </em>too, if ya know what I mean.” </p><p> </p><p>“Unfortunately I do,” Stan grumbles before watching Kenny take a drag on his cigarette. “but no way, dude! You’re winning this thing.” </p><p> </p><p>Kenny shrugs, “While I am undeniably the most badass of everyone, I just don’t see that happening. I’m a little <em> too </em> happy to be here. I’ve seen enough movies to know it's the pessimists who win.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan shakes his head, “It’s your birthday, I’m going to make sure you win.” </p><p> </p><p>The blond stops Stan with a gentle tug of the arm before he can advance. He is surprised to find concern written into Kenny’s handsome, painted features, “What’s goin’ on, baby? You’re a little too worried about me winning this thing. You know I don’t care, right?” </p><p> </p><p>Stan opens his mouth to speak but loses the words in Kenny’s honey eyes. There’s a million things he wants to say, as per usual, but it's all stuck in his throat for now. He simply shrugs forces a lame retort, “I just want everything to be awesome for you.” </p><p> </p><p>“Well, check ‘awesome’ off the list of high expectations for yourself, because you’ve definitely achieved that.” Kenny assures with a sweet smile before leaning on his toes slightly to capture Stan in a kiss. </p><p> </p><p>Smiling against his lips, Stan raises a hand and caresses Kenny’s cheek,  unconcerned about getting black smudges on his thumb. </p><p> </p><p>The sound of whistling causes their stomachs to drop. They jump apart and point their guns in the direction of the approaching opponents. They breathe a sigh of relief in unison when Clyde and Craig approach. </p><p> </p><p>Clyde’s hands are up to signify surrender. “What’s good, love birds?” </p><p> </p><p>“You idiots are lucky we were the ones who found you sucking face,” Craig comments with a scrunched nose. “I’m not lucky I had to see it.” </p><p> </p><p>Kenny shoots him a wink, “You’d watch our sex tape, Tucker.” </p><p> </p><p>“I’d rather eat my own hand.” </p><p> </p><p>“Kenny, I have a serious problem…” Clyde exclaims as he steps toward his blond friend. He claps a hand on the smaller boy’s shoulder and sniffles tragically. “we found an abandoned Taco Bell.” </p><p> </p><p>Kenny frowns, “C’mere, honey,” </p><p> </p><p>Clyde collapses into a comforting hug from Kenny and whines, “It’s so unceremonious! The sign is still up and everything!” </p><p> </p><p>Craig and Stan exchange exasperated stares. Stan shakes his head and asks, “So, what happened to Ike?” </p><p> </p><p>“Shootout with Fatass and Kyle,” he answers. “I’m very shocked Kyle actually walked away.”</p><p> </p><p>“When Cartman and Kyle team up, they are pretty hard to beat, but lucky for us<em>, </em>Kyle can only put up with Cartman so long. As long as the two split up, I think we have a good chance at beating this.”</p><p> </p><p>“As long as you let me get Kyle,” Craig says.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna take away your sole motivator in playing this.”</p><p> </p><p>Kenny finally releases Clyde from the hug, and joins by the others’ sides, Clyde close behind him. “Well, let’s get a move on, soldiers,” Kenny salutes them, and begins to march away. “Ain’t gonna be shooting nobody down, here.”</p><p> </p><p>Clyde marches behind him, saluting the pair as he passes by them. Stan and Craig stare at one another in somewhat amusement, before falling behind them — <em> walking </em> , <em> not </em>marching.</p><p> </p><p>_</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Bang bang, he shot me down, bang bang, I hit the ground, bang bang… that awful sound, bang bang… my baby shot— </em>” </p><p> </p><p>“For the love of Moses, will you stop singing that god awful song?” Kyle snaps as the creep side-by-side near the balcony on the second floor in attempts to scout any stragglers from the opposing team. </p><p> </p><p>Cartman scoffs, “Sure, if you stop using your Jew vocabulary and say take the good lord Jesus’s name in vain like the rest of us.” </p><p> </p><p>Kyle grits his teeth. “Finish the word, asshole.” </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry. <em> Jew-y </em> vocabulary.” </p><p> </p><p>It’s been a long few hours of Cartman trying and succeeding to press every button Kyle has (which is a <em> lot </em> ). He is learning a lot about the art of paintball war in which your friends abandon you on the opposite team without the decency of granting you your own <em> boyfriend’s </em> presence, and the most prominent lesson is unfortunately sometimes Cartman is actually an asset. </p><p> </p><p>As they skirt the edge, a flash of camouflage catches Kyle’s eye. He grins maniacally at the sight of Kenny with his back to them, seemingly using the reflection of a glass storefront to adjust his bandana. Kyle stops in his tracks and points to the exposed enemy. “Dude, use your sniper and get him!” </p><p> </p><p>Cartman laughs quietly at the thought of taking out the birthday boy. He lets out a series of grunts as he removes the horrendously unnecessary paintball sniper rifle he purchased (or rather his mother bought him) in preparation of this game, along with a few far superior pistols that he stashed in a utility belt. Kyle was perfectly fine with a neon-pink plastic pistol from Stan’s basement. </p><p> </p><p>As the Cartman lines up the shot, Kyle glances over his shoulder with anticipation. While getting Kenny out is not his focus, not only is it just part of the game, it will definitely piss Stan off, which is an added bonus to his primary goal of killing Craig. </p><p> </p><p>Kyle watches in horror as Kenny begins to backpedal away from his vulnerable position. He nudged Cartman harshimg, ignoring the mewl of pain, “What the fuck are you doing, take the shot!” </p><p> </p><p>“Jesus, Kahl! I’m waiting!” </p><p> </p><p>“For what?! Take the goddamn shot!” </p><p> </p><p>“I will in a second, I’m not ready!” </p><p> </p><p>But Kenny is extremely close to being gone from their line of sight. Adrenaline and fear of losing the opportunity take over Kyle and he raises his own weapon to the unsuspecting blond and begins firing. </p><p> </p><p>A loud <em> Oh, shit! </em>sounds from the level below them as Kenny is alerted of their position and sprints away to safety, every shot Kyle fired missing by significant margins. “God fucking damnit!” </p><p> </p><p>“What the hell is your problem?! You can’t snipe</p><p>someone with a goddamn five year-old girl’s pistol!” Cartman seethes, lifting his sniper from the railing and lunging toward Kyle. </p><p> </p><p>Kyle closes the gap, entering Cartman’s personal space and shouting, “Why the fuck didn’t you just take the shot?! You had him! He was right there and you just let fix his hair like an idiot for any actually competent person to shoot!”</p><p> </p><p>“I told you I was waiting, you little bitch!” Cartman huffs as he slings his sniper across his back again and crosses his thick arms. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>For wha</em>t?!” Kyle bellows, furious emphasis on both words. </p><p> </p><p>“For him to turn around!” Cartman answers at an equal volume, “I wanted to shoot him in the balls!” </p><p> </p><p>Blind rage actually froze him. His face falls and his lips purse. He gives himself a moment of silence that truly terrifies his partner before seething, “You let Kenny go for a fucking bit?! You’re such a stupid fucking idiot! I’m going to fucking kill you!” </p><p> </p><p>Just before a physical altercation takes place between the two, the sound of footsteps down the hall obtain their attention. </p><p> </p><p>They aim their guns to the sound and turn to it. Clyde, Craig and Stan reveal themselves from the showdown, their guns aimed at the pair.</p><p> </p><p>“I told you that using Kenny as a decoy would work,” Stan says with a smirk. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, no one doubted you,” Craig responds.</p><p> </p><p>“Any last —,” Stan starts, but before he can get <em> his </em>final word out, Kyle takes the first shot at Craig. He misses, but it sets off an explosion of shots being fired between the group.</p><p> </p><p>“You missed,” Craig smirks at his boyfriend from across the hall, shooting off a paint ball in his direction.</p><p> </p><p>Kyle sidesteps it, barely missing the blow that would have hit him in the leg. Kyle tightens his lips into a straight line and dodges a blow from Clyde by ducking down, directing his stare at Craig after, “so did both of you. But I won’t miss a second time.”</p><p> </p><p>He takes a little more time to aim this time, and watches as the paintball glides through the air, directly towards Craig.</p><p> </p><p>“Craig, no!” Clyde shouts, running to the other male to tackle him to the ground. Craig releases a grunt as he hits the floor, followed shortly after by a whine from Clyde as the paintball hits him in the shoulder blade .</p><p> </p><p>“Really, Clyde?” Kyle calls from across the room.</p><p> </p><p>Kyle looks around, noticing that Cartman has left him, and also noticing that Stan’s gun is pointed towards him. “Fucking <em> fat ass,” </em>he grumbles before he decides to make a run for it. Kenny is bound to join them soon, and he is smart enough to know he can’t take on all three of them.</p><p> </p><p>He successfully dodges Stan’s shots as he runs off, leaving the trio to mourn the loss of one of their own.</p><p> </p><p>Craig grumbles underneath the heavier-set boy, attempting to free himself, but unable. “Can you get <em> off me now?” </em> Craig demands.</p><p> </p><p>Stan walks over to the pair as Clyde shifts away from his team mate and best friend. Craig furrows his eyebrows at him. “Why did you do that, dumbass?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because I’d take a bullet for you, dude,” Clyde responds with wide eyes and a sheepish smile. “You know that. I know how much you want to get Kyle, too, and I just want you to be happy.”</p><p> </p><p>Craig frowns, but he cannot deny that he is touched by his best friend’s actions. “Thanks, Clyde. I owe you one,” he stands up, brushing the dust off his pants.</p><p> </p><p>Clyde mirrors his actions and stands up as well. “Just buy me Taco Bell, or something. Speaking of, I got snacks in Token’s car — I’m gonna go get em’.”</p><p> </p><p>Just as Clyde wanders off, Kenny rejoins them again. He and Clyde salute one another as they pass each other by. “I just saw the text that Clyde’s out — How did that happen? I thought you guys would be able to take em’ both out with that sneak attack.”</p><p> </p><p>Stan sighs, frowning. “Me too, but they’re better at this than I thought. Clyde took a shot for Craig, and Cartman ditched. After Kyle saw that Cartman abandoned him, he left too… at least they are separated now though. They should be easier to take out that way.”</p><p> </p><p>“Damn,” Kenny shakes his head, locking eyes with Craig. “That dude really loves you, and I’m not even talking about Kyle.”</p><p> </p><p>Craig releases an exhale, picking his head up to the direction in which Kyle ran off to. “Yeah, yeah… I wholeheartedly do not understand why, but it makes me want to get Kyle even more now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Great,” Stan nods, “we’ll continue on together, then. There is strength in numbers.”</p><p> </p><p>Kenny sends a smirk towards Craig, nudging him in his abdomen. “Don’t worry, Third Wheel, we’ll keep things PG rated for ya, unless you’d <em> prefer </em>something a little more graphic.”</p><p> </p><p>Craig scrunches his nose up in disgust at the shorter male. “I’d rather be hit by an actual bullet.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s the spirit!” Kenny claps him on the back.</p><p> </p><p>Ignoring them, Stan says, “I think we should take out the rest of their team first — get them alone. The girls and Scott can’t be far.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aye, Aye, Captain’,” Kenny grins at his boyfriend. “Lead the way.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“How long does it take to get out of there?!” Token questions, peering at his Apple watch and then back over to the opening of the dilapidated mall. “Clyde died a half hour ago.” </p><p> </p><p>“Wouldn’t be the f-f-first time Clyde got lost in a mall,” Jimmy points out. </p><p> </p><p>The pair are sat in the opened trunk of Token’s car, chatting with the orange team females and Wendy. The friend group of sophomores have wandered off to the side to chat amongst themselves—Token is just grateful he was no longer alone to hear Craig’s little sister’s colorful rant about how terrible her brother is. </p><p> </p><p>The sky is now consumed by the darkness of the evening, and miraculously, the parking lot’s street lamps remain operational, though quite dim. Thankfully false spring is still in effect, and the temperature is a bearable chilly without any breeze sharpening the air.</p><p> </p><p>Bebe rolls her eyes, “I’m literally dying of hunger, they need to hurry the fuck up for I’m going home.” The group nods in agreement but reserves to at least wait for Clyde to make his way out of the eerie maze. </p><p> </p><p>A few moments later, and to everyone’s surprise, a sleek SUV pulls around the curved path and into the parking lot. Twelve eyes widen in fear, automatically assuming it is law enforcement until they see no flashing lights. </p><p> </p><p>“Um… what the fuck,” Wendy wonders allowed, pushing herself from the trunk of her car and backing toward Token’s vehicle. </p><p> </p><p>“Who is that?!” </p><p> </p><p>“You think it’s a drug deal?” </p><p> </p><p>“It’s <em> probably </em> Mr. Stotch here to snatch Butters’s forehead for ditching school.” </p><p> </p><p>“Or Mrs. Broflovski coming for Ike!”</p><p> </p><p>“Guys, shut up and get in your car, whoever it is is coming over here!” </p><p> </p><p>All are suddenly terrified at the fast approaching figure. Bebe, Heidi, and Nichole jog toward the front of the car and shout to Ike, Karen, and Tricia, urging them to come and take cover as Wendy fumbles with her keys to open the car door. </p><p> </p><p>Heidi feels tears prickle her eyes as she watches a trench-coated man stomp toward them. Although, some of her frightened energy turns to confusion when he hears a jingling that sounds with each step. She squints, “Is that guy wearing <em> spurs </em>?” </p><p> </p><p>“What?” Nichole questions, breathing heavily and whipping her head round to scrutinize the figure. Upon closer inspection, he looks like a character from a wild west film. “Is that a… cowboy?” </p><p> </p><p>Now more puzzled than ever, they watch as the cowboy stops a few yards from them and pulls his trench coat to the side, a hostler revealed. They gasp as he spins the weapon from the pouch and holds it at his side, rapidly firing an unknown amount of paintball pellets, prompting shrieks from the girls. A few balls miss and splatter against the side of Wendy’s silver vehicle with deafening <em> donks </em>.  </p><p> </p><p>“What the hell, man!” She shouts, twisting her face in annoyance at the shooter, whose identity is concealed by a hat tipped over his face. She endures another shot to the shoulder and winces before ducking down to take cover. Her eyes find the other girls crouching behind the car in defense of themselves. She sees Bebe and Heidi have already been hit, and Nichole’s wide eyes blaze to the deceased team members. Wendy urges her, “Go shoot him before he destroys my car!” </p><p> </p><p>“What am I gonna be able to do?! He already took Karen out on her way to the car!” Nichole pants. The other two start to rush her off. Reluctantly, she lifts her head slowly over the hood of the car to get a look at the perpetrator. As soon as even a small amount of her body is exposed, a paintball collides with it—which just so happens to be her forehead. “<em> Ow </em>!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god!” Bebe gasps and dives toward her friend. Nichole is reeling from the direct hit to the face as blue goo oozes down her forehead. Bebe swipes it away, “Are you okay?!” </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve definitely been better,” Nichole huffs in disgruntlement. </p><p> </p><p>“Who was <em> th-that </em>?!” Jimmy exclaims after the figure has disappeared after seemingly accomplishing his goal. </p><p> </p><p>Ike speaks up, “It looks like they brought in a ringer.” </p><p> </p><p>Token clicks the roof of his mouth with his tongue. “Those sons of bitches. After everything they put us through with this stupid game, they go and hire a ringer.” </p><p> </p><p>“Mind sharing with the class what the hell a ringer is, dweebs?” Tricia urges. Like Wendy, the ringer managed a few unnecessary shots at her as well. </p><p> </p><p>Ike extrapolates, “Ringer is like a secret weapon. Usually they come in as an imposter of some kind to help get the other team get a leg up in the competition.” </p><p> </p><p>Bebe cocks an eyebrow, “So, you think it was one of those idiots in there in a stupid costume that was meant to distract us?” </p><p> </p><p>“Could be,” Ike shrugs. </p><p> </p><p>“That doesn’t explain why he shot the already dead people.” Token points out. </p><p> </p><p>Wendy gestures to her decorated car furiously, “Clearly, whoever it is a massive dickhead and probably didn’t <em> care </em>.” </p><p> </p><p>“What doesn’t make sense is how they got another car here without driving to it first,” Heidi says, gesturing to the parked vehicle behind them. “It had to be someone not already here.” </p><p> </p><p>“That p-p-pretty fucked up.” Jimmy huffs. </p><p> </p><p>“Unless Stan had Kenny drove separately and left his car on the other side of the parking lot until now.” Token tries, “That could explain how they changed outfits.” </p><p> </p><p>Karen chimes in, “No, I came with Kenny and Stan.” </p><p> </p><p>“And, Kenny is a tiny little thing. That guy was pretty tall.” Heidi adds. </p><p> </p><p>Ike shrugs again, “Really tall boots?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, whatever, we’re leaving. You guys can wait as long as you want for Clyde.” Nichole grunts, allowing herself to be aided into the backseat of Wendy’s Corolla. </p><p> </p><p>Wendy nods to Karen, “Tell your brother and his boyfriend they’re paying for my new paint job.” </p><p> </p><p>Karen and Tricia exchange wary gazes after watching the other girls veer off, leaving them outnumbered by boys yet again. Karen reaches into her neon-splattered jacket pocket for her shabby, old Samsung and finds Stan’s contact, quite positive that Kenny will not answer his barely functional iPhone 4. At the same time, a group text goes out stating the crippled status of the blue team. </p><p> </p><p>Stan, Kenny, and Craig had decided to take a much needed break in the backroom of the long forgotten Taco Bell in honor of their fallen hero. While guzzling down the bottles of water Kenny packed, Stan feels his cellphone vibrate in his pocket. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s your sister,” he announces to Kenny after taking a look at the caller ID. The blond pinches his eyebrows together and watches Stan raise the phone to his ear, “hello?” </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, so, what the fuck, man?” the voice that resembles his boyfriends demands from the other line. </p><p> </p><p>“Holy shit,” Craig spouts, abruptly pushing himself upright and throwing the two disbelieving looks, “all of the girls are out.” </p><p> </p><p>“What?!” Kenny barks, then snaps his neck back to face the dumbfounded Stan. </p><p> </p><p>“What the hell happened?!” Stan interrogates, leaning his arms against his knees and continuing to share bewildered expressions with his teammates. </p><p> </p><p>“Your stupid ringer got us all killed. Who decided to dress up like a cowboy? Was it Craig?” </p><p> </p><p>“Craig is definitely not cool enough to pull that off.” Tricia declares from beside her friend. </p><p> </p><p>Stan scrunches his nose in confusion, “What are you talking about, what <em> ringer </em> ? What—What <em> cowboy </em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Karen explains, irritated, “Someone just pulled up in a big, black car and shot us all a bunch, even Tricia, Ike, and Wendy! He was dressed like an old Western vigilante.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan racks his brain for answers on what could have happened and he is very displeased when realization hits him like a ton of bricks. His blue eyes widen before he throws his hand to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose and groans, “Oh my god.” </p><p> </p><p>“What?” Kenny and Karen ask in unison. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s my fucking <em> dad </em>.” </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Clyde flashes the light around the space, wondering to himself if he has already crossed this area or not. With so many of the store signs taken away and the infinite darkness that has now covered the mall from the death of daylight, it all kind of looks the same.</p><p> </p><p>He would be lying if he was not a <em> little </em> creeped out by the whole situation. Especially since reading Stan’s text and learning that his dad was running around wild, shooting down both the dead and living. He was happy to take a hit for Craig, but he really would rather not be hit <em> again.  </em></p><p> </p><p>And the worst of it is how <em> hungry </em>he is. He is sure if he was still in the game, he would easily get shot down with how loud his stomach is rumbling. </p><p> </p><p>As he decides to turn right, instead of left, he watches as someone stumbles out of one of the store fronts. He turns his flashlight towards him, and lets out a breath of relief when he sees it is Tweek.</p><p> </p><p>Tweek jumps upon seeing him, widening his eyes. It is the first time he has seen anyone in <em> hours. </em>His hiding spot was proven to be effective, but his phone is close to dead, and he is not willing to spend any more time in the pitch darkness.</p><p> </p><p>Clyde rushes forward and throws his arms around the other boy. “I’ve never been so glad to see you! I mean, I’m always glad to see you, but ya know — <em> especially </em>right now.”</p><p> </p><p>Tweek squeezes him, relishing into the company and strong hold. When they separate, Tweek says, “I’m ready to be shot — I’m just going to ask them to do it from a respectable distance.”</p><p> </p><p>Clyde hums, rubbing his chin as he looks the other up and down. Suddenly, an idea comes to mind. Clyde grabs a glob of paint off his ensemble and scatters it across Tweek’s shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, no! Randy got you, Tweek!”</p><p> </p><p>Tweek eyes the paint on his shoulder, then Clyde with a bright smile. “Thanks, man — you know, you’re smarter than anyone gives you credit for.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, I figure I have to dumb myself down so people don’t hate me for being so awesome.”</p><p> </p><p>Tweek chuckles with a nod before saying, “let’s get the hell out of here.” He turns back to where Clyde came, and points in the other direction. “The exit’s that way.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yeah, I knew that,” Clyde nods, falling behind Tweek.</p><p> </p><p>Together, Tweek and Clyde head out; Clyde sending a message to the group chat to let them know Tweek has fallen via Randy.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>After ditching Kyle, Cartman ran into Scott Malkinson. Scott practically <em> begged </em> Cartman to join him. To which, Cartman decided <em> why not </em>— he could use him as a human shield.</p><p> </p><p>But now, Cartman regrets that decision as Scott complains of his need to eat and <em> low-blood sugar.  </em></p><p> </p><p>“I’m Scott Malkinson, and I have diabetes,” Cartman mocks with a forced lisp.</p><p> </p><p>Scott turns to face him with a glare. Contrary to Cartman's created memory, it was Cartman who asked him to team up — still with the intention to use Scott as a human shield.</p><p> </p><p>“Ack, it’s not funny! I need to eat something, or I’m gonna have Diabetic Shock, Eric! I need to at least go to the parking lot to eat a snack from my car.”</p><p> </p><p>“You should have thought about that before the game began — why didn’t you bring any with you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I <em> did </em> . You ate half of it though, and I didn’t think we’d be in here this long — it’s been <em> hours.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Cartman rolls his eyes. “I’m Scott Malkinson, and I have diabetes,” he mocks. “If you leave, you screw us all, you got that?” He turns to face the other male, scowling at him.</p><p> </p><p>As he threatens him, Scott sees someone emerge from the shadows behind him. He blinks a couple times and spots that it is definitely Butters. The blonde lowers his gun, aiming it at Eric’s back, whilst holding a finger up to his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Scott narrows his eyes into Eric with a frown. “I think you’re gonna be the real loser, Eric.”</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck does that —,” Eric yelps in pain at the end of his sentence, feeling a sharp pain pierce into his back. “<em> What the fuck!” </em></p><p> </p><p>Cartman turns around, locking eyes onto Butters who holds the flashlight under his chin, menacingly laughing. “I told you’d I get you, Eric!”</p><p> </p><p>“Butters — god dammit,” Eric stomps a foot to the ground. “I’m gonna kill you!” The larger boy charges at the blonde.</p><p> </p><p>Scott takes this as a time of personal redemption, and takes aim at Butters, hitting him straight in the chest. Butters lets out a pained scream, and Cartman takes this as an opportunity to kick Butters in the shin.</p><p> </p><p>Butters retaliates with a fist to Cartman’s chin, and as a small fist fight ensues, Scott flees the scene. </p><p> </p><p>When Butters successfully pushes Cartman to the ground, he notices the one who shot him down got away. He tightens his lips into a straight line, eyeing around for where he could have gone.</p><p> </p><p>Butters rubs his hands together, “don’t worry, Scott, you’ll get what’s coming to you.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Craig drags his feet against the dirt-clad carpet lazily as he falls behind the most PDA-obsessed couple he has <em> ever </em> met. It’s nauseating, and worsens the pang in his stomach already present from hunger and have to pee (which he refuses to do in the pitch-dark corners of the mall like Stan and Kenny did). </p><p> </p><p>He watches unamused as Stan and Kenny giggle flirtatiously and whisper to each other. Bored of their disgusting behavior, he cuts into their little bubble, “How do I explain to people that Kyle and I love each other when I’ve endured watching you two try to make a baby and starve myself just so I can shoot him with a paintball?” </p><p> </p><p>Stan cocks an eyebrow at his fellow noirette and drapes an arm around Kenny’s shoulders. “Good question, because you both are acting like lunatics right now.” </p><p> </p><p>“Alexa, play Crazy In Love by Beyoncé!” Kenny points in no-particular direction, feeling a little disoriented from the hunger and exhaust of walking around pitch-dark mall for hours on end.</p><p> </p><p>“Alexa, play I Think I’m Gonna Kill Myself by Elton John,” Craig grumbles in response. </p><p> </p><p>With a snicker, Stan reaches into his pocket to investigate the reason for his ringer to go off. If its another thing about his stupid fucking father sabotaging his carefully conducted birthday present for his boyfriend, he swears he will put himself up for adoption despite being a legal adult—especially because he knows it is revenge for Stan refusing to let him join them, uncaring whether or not he is <em> really good </em>at paintball. </p><p> </p><p>The news is much better than his, however. With wide eyes, he happily proclaims, “Butters and Cartman are out!” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh <em> shit </em>— that means only Kyle’s left? Right?” Kenny cups his boyfriend’s shoulder to glance down at the phone clasp in his hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Hell yes it does! And I have a plan,” Stan exclaims, locking the device and turning to face the other two, “what if we offer Kyle a surrender? You know—if he gives up, we don’t shoot?” </p><p> </p><p>Craig snickers, “Oh yeah, <em> that </em>will happen.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan looks to Kenny for backup, “He may not like to lose, but this would technically not be <em> losing </em>,” </p><p> </p><p>Kenny tilts his head side to side, considering the idea. “Could work… Kyle has to be smart enough to know he can’t take us all out.”</p><p> </p><p>Craig huffs out a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. “Whatever, maybe you’re right. I’m not making the call.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan lets his jaw fall open, feigning for shock. “Did you just say I was <em> right </em>?!” </p><p> </p><p>“<em> Maybe </em>, Marsh,” Craig clarifies with a groan. </p><p> </p><p>“Aw,” Kenny coos, elbowing the taller male in the ribs, “you really warming up to us with all this quality time, huh, Tucker?”</p><p> </p><p>“I have to show you guys a modicum of humanity or Kyle won’t suck my dick.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan grants him a disgusted expression, which pleases him. He taps Kyle’s phone number onto his screen and presses the device to his ear. </p><p> </p><p>Craig furrows his brow, “Do you have his number memorized?” Stan nods. Craig darts his eyes to Kenny. “And that doesn’t concern you?” </p><p> </p><p>Kenny shrugs. “I figure if they do end up running into the sunset one day, I may as well enjoy the time now. I advise you do the same,” Kenny cups a hand to Craig’s shoulder. “Plus, I bet you good money that Clyde probably knows yours.”</p><p> </p><p>“At least that deranged obsession isn't mutual.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan rolls his eyes and smirks when he hears a forlorn <em> What do you want? </em>greet him from the other line. “Hello, Kyle. Did you see you’re the last man standing?”</p><p> </p><p>“I am still able to read, yes, thanks for checking in on that.”</p><p> </p><p>Ignoring Craig’s amused, ugly chuckle, Stan sighs, “Listen, assface, we have a proposition for you. If you surrender, we won’t actually shoot you. But you have to say you give up and we win.” </p><p> </p><p>Silence hangs above them as they all stare upon the phone, Stan’s leg tapping in anticipation. “All right, Stan, that sounds fair…  considering Randy took out half of my team, and you know, the fact you paired me with <em> Cartman.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Stan grimaces, “Oh, no, by all means! Try and take on all three of us, then.”</p><p> </p><p>Craig cocks his gun, knowing his boyfriend will not fold. </p><p> </p><p>“No, no, you’re right, Stan. I’d be unable to do it on my own. I give up. You guys win.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Ha </em>!” Stan laughs triumphantly. “Where should we meet you to accept your surrender?” </p><p> </p><p>“Meet me at the food court,” Kyle says before ending the call.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, let’s go win this thing officially!” Stan exclaims and begins trotting off toward the food court (he thinks). </p><p> </p><p>Craig says, “Wait a second. There is no way Kyle would give up that easily.” </p><p> </p><p>“You saying that from experience, Tucker?” Kenny asks with a smirk and waggle of his eyebrows. “Sorry to hear you had such difficulty getting into his pants, but I think we’re gucci.”</p><p> </p><p>Craig glares between the smug couple and shrugs his shoulders. “Whatever. But I <em> advise </em> you to prepare for a fight.” </p><p> </p><p>“It’ll be fine, dude! I’m sure he’s tired and hungry like we are.” Stan scoffs and continues leading the pair to victory. </p><p> </p><p>Recalling the bag of snacks Kyle packed himself so he did not have to worry about diabetic lows and his unwavering determination to be the best, Craig keeps his gun at the ready. </p><p>_ </p><p> </p><p>Kyle ends the call, with his fingers crossed at his side. He smirks at the taller man beside him.</p><p> </p><p>“We aren’t actually surrendering, are we?” the man asks, “‘cause my jerk son deserves to be put in his place.”</p><p> </p><p>Kyle would not normally agree with Randy Marsh, but on this, he does. He shakes his head. “No,” Kyle holds his crossed fingers up to him, “I just said that so they won’t expect it.”</p><p> </p><p>Randy begins to laugh, holding onto his stomach; the noises echoing within the dark corridors. “Better buckle up cowboys, ‘cause here I come! Yeehaw!” Randy turns toward the direction of the food court.</p><p> </p><p>Kyle huffs out a breath before falling behind him. Hopefully, this will all be worth it. </p><p> </p><p>__</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Kenny nearly skips alongside his boyfriend, letting out a tired yawn as he does so. “Man, oh man, I’m really feeling Clyde’s pain over that abandoned Taco Bell right now.”</p><p> </p><p>Kenny is used to being hungry, as he grew up with missed meals and small portions, but his stomach still rumbles with hunger nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>He lifts his head up to gander at the sky roof above them — a myriad of stars hanging above them on the clear night. He smiles as he stares above him, thankful for the day, and for the person who was responsible for it.</p><p> </p><p>He beams at the taller male beside him. No one has ever put this much thought into a gift for him before. He feels as though he doesn’t deserve it; all the work put into this — just for him.</p><p> </p><p>Stan flicks his stare to find warm brown eyes already fixed on him. As per usual, his heart flutters, and he grins widely. “Not too much longer until Kyle buys you dinner, babe.” </p><p> </p><p>“We eat like kings tonight, my dear,” Kenny responds. “All thanks to you.”</p><p> </p><p>Kenny is pretty sure they are going the right direction, but he begins to doubt it as he feels his legs aching in pain from how long they have been walking. Although, he could very much contribute it to the whole day of being on his feet.</p><p> </p><p>Just as he begins to doubt their direction, Stan’s flashlight shines on the letters hanging above their head: -<em> ood cou-t. “ </em>Ah the ood cout,” Kenny smiles, “I feel as though it’s been forever since we last seen this place. I can’t believe Kyle’s been going at it alone this whole time. I fear whatever’s lurking around this place more than I fear death itself,” Kenny says, exchanging a weary glance with Stan.</p><p> </p><p>Stan snorts in agreement and scans his eyes across the dingy letters. If not for the presence of his boyfriend and admittedly Craig, he would feel sufficiently spooked. When they had been at the food court earlier, there had at least been light emitting from the sun roof windows, but now, all that was left was prolonged darkness.</p><p> </p><p>They step forward, three of their flashlights guiding the way. Kenny scans his eyes around the desolate area, a chill going down his spine. He steps closer to Stan, grasping for his hands in the darkness and feeling a sense of comfort once their fingers link together.</p><p> </p><p>As they find themselves in the center of the food court, sudden bursts of light appear from the Taco Bell. Each set of eyes snap to the direction of the mysterious, bright lights. Although, they see no one there.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, well, well,” Kyle steps out from the back-area of the Taco Bell. He smirks at them, and holds his gun over his chest. “We meet again.”</p><p> </p><p>Stan cups his free hand over his eyes to help them adjust to the light as he raises his gun toward Kyle and exclaims, “What the fuck, Kyle?!” </p><p> </p><p>“Come on, you idiots,” Craig grunts, twisting their arms and leading them toward cover. The three cower behind the counter of a once Chinese restaurant and prepare for shots that do not come quickly. He quirks his head to Stan and Kenny and puts on a mock high pitched voice, “It’ll be <em> fine </em> , dude! The most competitive and hyper fixated person on the face of the planet will <em> totally </em> surrender, no strings attached!” </p><p> </p><p>“You make me sound so sexy, Craig. I’m so flattered,” Kenny responds, smirking at him.</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck is he <em> doing </em>?” Stan spits, raising to a crouching position and carefully peering over the counter to find Kyle illuminated by the blinding lights. He has never been more terrified of his best friend—even when he was going through puberty. “What is this, Kyle?! You know you can’t take on all 3 of us! Where’s the surrender?” </p><p> </p><p>“And why didn’t you share your magical lights with us?!” Craig adds. </p><p> </p><p>Kyle smirks, rubbing the top of his paint gun. “You see, I thought that the field was a little uneven, so I thought, why not even it out, a bit? I did lose four members of my team to a non-designated player. Shouldn’t the people who were so keen on keeping to the rules of the game — on <em> keeping </em>the designated teams — care about the justice and civility within that game?”</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck did he just say? I swear to god, you clowns transform him into a version of himself I do not appreciate when you get him caught up in these stupid games.” Craig complains, gesturing toward the two with his gun. </p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Craig,” Stan spouts, then takes a leap of faith and stands up to have a proper look at what’s going on. “What do you mean <em> even the field </em>?” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m so happy you asked, Stan,” Kyle says, snapping his eyes up to his friend and completely ignoring his irritating boyfriend’s comment.</p><p> </p><p>There is a strange sound that emits from the darkness, like a combination of clacking and jingling. Stan whips his head toward the noise and sucks in a heavy breath when an unfortunately familiar figure steps into the illuminated portion of the cafeteria. Randy will use any excuse to rock his so-called sexy cowboy costume. </p><p> </p><p>“Is that your asinine father?” Craig questions. </p><p> </p><p>Stan’s eyes widen in shock when he sees the ridiculous weapon in Randy’s grasp. He recognizes it as a causation for a fight between his parents—a $500 automatic paintball rifle. There is a stupid smirk across his mustached face when he raises the gun toward his son. “Shit, stay down!” </p><p> </p><p>He drops  back onto the ground and throws an arm around Kenny. The blond buries his face in Stan’s neck and flinches at the deafening popping sound hits the counter before them and the glass and walls behind them. The onslaught of paintball bullets pelting the surrounding scenery cause them all to shudder. </p><p> </p><p>“Ugh, goddamn it. How does my dad manage to ruin every aspect of my life? And what kind of best friend <em> helps </em>him?” Stan rushes out in a fit of emotion. With Randy’s machine gun, their chances at winning has narrowed completely. He will fail at giving Kenny the most memorable and fun birthday of his life. “I’m sorry, Kenny, I wanted this to be perfect.”</p><p> </p><p>Kenny sucks in heavy breaths, “What are you talking about?” </p><p> </p><p>“¡Buenos días, children!” Randy exclaims, cutting into the discussion. “I’m sure it’s been a long day for you—and I’m just getting started. Since <em> somebody </em> forgot to invite his own father!” </p><p> </p><p>“<em> Yes </em> ,” Stan responds, taking a peek towards his father. “Because it is my boyfriend’s birthday and I am celebrating with all our <em> high school aged </em> friends.”</p><p> </p><p>Randy huffs, “Well, Kenny and I are pretty close, I think I deserve to be here!” </p><p> </p><p>Stan huffs, dragging a hand across his face. “For the last time, dad. My friends are not your friends.”</p><p> </p><p>Kenny flashes a weak grin to Stan, “I mean, we have shared a few joints, but I don’t think that constitutes being close enough for him to shoot at me with a toy machine gun.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan groans, facing his father. “You hear that dad? Not close enough friends!”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe I’m not close enough to your boyfriend, but I am the one that’s been hanging out with your super best friend that you abandoned all night!” Randy continues to challenge, readying to his weapon again when he senses movement from behind the counter. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, dickhole, you drove me to hanging out with your <em> dad </em>! And my own boyfriend did fuck all to stick up for me.” Kyle adds with a scoff, crossing his arms over his chest. </p><p> </p><p>“Kyle, come on, what was I supposed to do? You really think I wanted to be stuck with these dickheads all day instead of you?” Craig shouts out, sending a glare to his boyfriend from behind his hideout location.</p><p> </p><p>Stan sighs, “<em> Kyle, </em>” Stan winces out, “you don’t have to do this!”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re both full of shit!” Kyle snaps, then nods a head toward Randy. “Don’t stop until you get them all.” </p><p> </p><p>Randy chuckles and takes a few more steps toward the counter, gun ready to be fired off in rapid succession one more time. Kyle raises his voice again, “We’ll give you the same deal you tried to cut me—come out with your hands up and we don’t shoot.” </p><p> </p><p>Kenny shoots Stan a disbelieving look. “One way to test that theory.” </p><p> </p><p>Before anyone can convince him otherwise, he pops up like a meerkat and swiftly plops back down between his fellow teammates, heart punching his rib cage after being narrowly missed by a line of bullets aimed straight for his face. “Whew, lordy,” he utters before shouting, “so, <em> that </em> was a fucking lie.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Kenny </em>!” Stan extends a hand towards the blonde. “What are you doing?” He asks.</p><p> </p><p>He faces Stan with a wild smile as he pops a new clip into his gun. “Makin’ Randy run out of rounds in that stupid machine gun. Now it’s a good ole fashioned, high noon pistol battle, Hamilton and Burr style.”</p><p> </p><p>“What are you <em> doing </em>?!” </p><p> </p><p>Kenny explains, “I’m gonna take that magnificent dumbass out, and while I’m distracting him, you two get the hell out of here and wait for whatever insane demon that has possessed Kyle’s body to find you and exorcise him together,” </p><p> </p><p>Kenny leans up on his toes, positioning himself to leap over the counter and advance on Randy—but he is coaxed back to a sitting position by his boyfriend. </p><p> </p><p>“No, Kenny! You can’t do this,” Stan pleads with wide eyes and a frown. “If you go out there, you could die. You’re supposed to win this,” he tightens his grin on the other male’s arm.</p><p> </p><p>With a soft sigh and a sympathetic frown, Kenny lifts his hands to hold Stan’s soft cheeks and stare into his eyes, “Time to drop the truth bomb, Stanley. Why do you need me to win so badly?” </p><p> </p><p>Stan swallows the lump in his throat, eyes flickering against Kenny’s. He sucks in a deep breath, hoping that some courage is breathed into his words with it. “I just want this to be a good birthday for you… I want to make sure we take all the time we have left to make <em> good, fun </em>memories so that when we’re apart next year, we can at least have that.”</p><p> </p><p>The words sting his heart and bring a sad smile to his lips. He gently rubs the face he will undoubtedly miss like crazy next hear as he offers assurance, “Baby, I’ve known you my entire life, and I’ve pretty much been in love with you just as long. We have so many amazing, unforgettable memories, and this is definitely one of them. But when you’re off at college and I’m stuck in his shitty town with your dad trying to play poker with me every Friday night, what’s gonna stick with me is how you do so much to make me feel special. In small ways like blowing me kisses during football games, or in huge ways like bullying all of our friends into coming out to the ass-crack of nowhere and playing an epic game of paintball together. I’ll remember you and me just bein’ in love, and that will always be more than enough for me.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan sucks in a large breath, feeling his tears prickle up at the loving words that come from his boyfriend’s mouth. He feels there is nothing he can do or say to truly express how much he loves this person, but he will spend forever trying. “I love you, so goddamn much, Kenny. I’m going to make sure you never forget how much I absolutely adore you,” he professes, leaning forward to press his lips into the other’s. The kiss is a promise of love between them; a love that will last beyond all measures of physical distance.</p><p> </p><p>Craig watches in disgust, scrunching up his nose at the gay romance soap opera before turning his head to Kyle. “They’ve been like this all day!” Craig cries out. “If anyone’s suffered or been screwed over, it’s <em> me.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Reluctantly withdrawing from the passionate term of endearment, Kenny winks at Stan before shooting Craig a smirk. “I should’ve made my speech more sexual.” </p><p> </p><p>“Only if you want my vomit alongside the paint that’s about to splash you.”</p><p> </p><p>Kenny laughs, as he backpedals in a crouched position, “You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he tells Craig before turning toward Stan with finality. “Win this fucking game for me.” </p><p> </p><p>With that, Kenny pops up from the counter and raises his gun to Randy. He spouts, “Let’s dance, bestie.” </p><p> </p><p>Randy crinkles his mustache as he focuses his aim to the small teenager firing shots right back. The kid is quick and only narrowly missing him. He begins to panic, and a small window of vulnerability becomes open to Kenny after he hops up onto a table, granting himself the height advantage he definitely did not possess before. </p><p> </p><p>Randy fires blind retaliation shots as he feels the force of a few paintballs strike his shoulder and chest. Once Kenny stops, he scrutinizes the state of his slick, black button down. “Aw, man, I’m gonna have to get this dry-cleaned now.” He staggers backward for dramatic effect, falling with a thud onto the linoleum floor. </p><p> </p><p>Kenny winces at the quick, sharp pain in his leg, raising the appendage to scrutinize the lime green splatter that hit his shin. He announces to the other three players hiding, “We’re both down.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan breaths heavily after popping up to find Kenny sat on the ground, assessing his bright leg-wound, “Oh my god! You killed Kenny!”</p><p> </p><p>“You <em> bastard </em>!” Kyle exclaims sardonically with a mocking gasp before swiftly scrunching  his features into a determined expression. He raises his gun and begins firing indiscriminately in their direction. </p><p> </p><p>Stan dodges the bullets and starts to crawl to where Kenny has fallen. Craig hops up from the counter and begins firing back at Kyle, gradually advancing on him. </p><p> </p><p>While the couple are shooting at one another, Stan grabs onto the sides of his Kenny’s face, looking down upon him with a pout. “Are you okay, baby?” He asks.</p><p> </p><p>Kenny grins brightly at his boyfriend. “Never been better.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ah, shit!” Kyle curses under his breath when he realizes  he needs to reload. He grimaces at his boyfriend before aiming a last few hopeful rounds in his direction before clicking on a flashlight and darting off and away down the corridor. </p><p> </p><p>Craig zones in on his boyfriend as he zooms away, turning on his own flashlight as he runs out of the lit up area. He looks both ways, unsure which way Kyle ran until an echo of footprints comes from his right.</p><p> </p><p>He jogs towards the sound, flashlight illuminating the way and his gun held securely in front of him. He is not going to let Kyle win after putting them through this over-the-top bull shit with Stan’s dad.</p><p> </p><p>Kyle glances over his shoulder, watching Craig quickly gain on him. He curses the boy’s damned never-ending legs and begins to panic—but he <em> refuses </em> to lose to him. He decides that desperate times call for desperate measures. </p><p> </p><p>When he is sure Craig is close enough to bear witness, he exaggerates the twist of his ankle and lets out a faux shriek of pain. He collapses to the ground, flashlight and gun falling beside him with a clatter. He winces and throws his hands down to his ankle. “Craig, stop, please, this—ah, it fucking hurts!” </p><p> </p><p>Craig points his flashlight into the direction of his pained boyfriend’s voice, and shouts out, “Kyle?!” </p><p> </p><p>Under the ray of his flashlight, he spots Kyle sprawled out on the floor, gun fallen beside him. A frown immediately tugs upon his lips as he rushes forward to the redhead in panic. </p><p> </p><p>He kneels down beside him, keeping his gun in hand <em> just in case. </em> He wants to believe him, but he also <em> knows </em>him pretty well. He knows he is willing to do anything to get what he wants.</p><p> </p><p>He sets a hand atop of the leg that Kyle is not cradling. “What happened? Where does it hurt, honey?” He asks, scanning his eyes over his body to inspect it.</p><p> </p><p>Kyle hisses as he slides toward Craig, “M-My ankle,” he <em> almost </em> feels bad when he assesses the genuine expression of concern across his handsome face, until he sees the gun still clasped in his hand. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a pathetic whimper, trying to force tears and complaining in a quiet whine, “Fuck, it really hurts, I-I think it’s sprained,”</p><p> </p><p>Craig’s eyes widen with worry as he realizes that Kyle must actually be hurt. The pained expression and small whimper tug at his heart strings. He sets his gun down so he can provide both his hands to him, hopefully in enabling him to stand up. “Can you walk? I’ll help you get up and walk you to the car. We’re done playing this stupid game,” he addresses him with furrowed eyebrows, rubbing his side gently, in hopes to comfort him some.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll try,” Kyle sniffs miserably, and reaches for Craig’s hands, allowing himself to be gingerly pulled forward. He maintains the façade until he is close enough to reach for Craig’s abandoned weapon. He lets his expression transform into a smirk as he boasts, “you’re too fucking easy.” </p><p> </p><p>In a swift, fluid motion, Kyle snatches the gun and propels himself backward. He falls into a roll to provide himself some distance before hopping up on one knee and aiming for Craig. With a purposeful tug of the trigger, his poor boyfriend’s stomach is decorated with a bright, pink dot. </p><p> </p><p>Craig winces, staring down at the paint that scatters across his stomach. He shakes his head. He should have known that was a trick. He lifts his head up to meet his boyfriend’s gaze, letting out an exasperated sigh.</p><p> </p><p>Kyle barks a breathy laugh and falls to his other knee. “I told you I would get you, Tucker. I’m <em> always </em> right.” </p><p> </p><p>Craig shakes his head and walks forward, extending a hand out for Kyle to take. As his boyfriend’s hand meets his, he helps him up.</p><p> </p><p>Their flashlights hang at their sides; a curtain of shadows casting over his boyfriend’s sharp and angular features. There is something absolutely maddening and <em> alluring </em> in his narrowed dark eyes and half-bitten smirk. The expression prevents him from feeling any bits of anger, and <em> instead, </em>prompts arousal. “Yeah, yeah,” Craig mumbles. “Is it weird that I’m, like, insanely attracted to you, right now?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nope,” Kyle answers, shaking his head as he grabs a fistful of Craig’s shirt and brings him down for a rough, passionate kiss on the lips. Craig releases a soft moan as he leans into the kiss he has been inwardly craving all day. His hands settle on Kyle’s hips as their lips drag hungrily together for a blissful moment, before Kyle prematurely disconnects and smirks, “we’ll finish this later. First I’m gonna finish this<em> game </em>.” </p><p> </p><p>Kyle steals another kiss while pressing their bodies together, slipping his fingers into the front pocket of Craig’s jeans to remove a full clip for the gun. He draws away again and pats the other man’s cheek before reloading the weapon. </p><p> </p><p>“Can you please just make it quick? I really can’t take being here much longer,” Craig sighs, watching  him prepare his weapon; still with the same energy, if not <em> more </em>from this morning. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry. I’m gonna shoot that asshole in his face and finally end this shit.” </p><p> </p><p>With that Kyle grabs a flashlight and rushes off toward where they came from, intent on adding some color to Stan’s attire. </p><p> </p><p>_ </p><p> </p><p>“I’m just glad you talked me outta doing this with BB guns.” Kenny chuckles as Stan examines the red mark on the pale skin of his leg. He grins half-heartedly at Stan. “Sorry I didn’t win. And that this shit turned into a late night endeavor. I truly didn’t think anyone would be that good at this.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t say sorry, baby. I just wanted you to have the best birthday ever, and I figured that winning this would help make that happen… I just hope you had fun,” Stan offers a closed smile in return.</p><p> </p><p>When his phone dings, his heart stops. While it could be a text from someone outside of the game, he highly doubts it. It is most likely Kyle or Craig. One of them is probably out. </p><p> </p><p>He sucks in a deep breath, praying internally that Craig got him, but he is immensely disappointed when he unlocks his phone. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, Kyle got Craig,” Stan frowns.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeesh. Kyle Broflovski is a well-oiled machine. You think you can get him?” Kenny asks. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think so,” Randy answers for him, capturing both of their attention. “Before our little showdown, I made sure to set my secret weapon.” </p><p> </p><p>Still propped up again dividing wall on the group, the man pulls the left side of his trench coat to the side to reveal an oddly sophisticated arrangement of wires, tubing, and bottles full of red paint. A timer can now be heard, counting down from twelve with quiet <em> beeps </em>. </p><p> </p><p>“Dude, is that a fucking <em>paint</em> <em>bomb</em>?” Kenny huffs, enlarged eyes flipping to Stan, “What in the almighty fuck is wrong with your dad?” </p><p> </p><p>“He is tired of being neglected!” Randy roars before laughing cynically. “Good luck running after your friend while covered in paint, jerk son.” </p><p> </p><p>“Go,” Kenny urges Stan, gently shoving him away, “go get Kyle!” </p><p> </p><p>Stan frowns but nods, leaping to his feet. With a final smile exchanged with his boyfriend, he sprints in the other direction, the ticking of the paint bomb behind him.</p><p> </p><p>He runs past through the exit of the food court, unwilling to stop until he is a few yards away from its entrance. With his gun propped against his shoulder, he turns around to see the explosion going off. The light from the Taco Bell — whatever Randy and Kyle set up — lights up the scene. The blast of red paint extends way into the shadows and rains upon his boyfriend and father.</p><p> </p><p>He is grateful, now more than ever, for the location they chose for this. Cleaning that up would be a bitch. He wonders how he will get Kenny home without getting paint all over his car’s interior. But for now, that does not matter. What matters is taking down Kyle.</p><p> </p><p>He turns with his flashlight on, striding forward into the direction he saw Kyle run. He paces into a jog, ready to find him and for this to end.</p><p> </p><p>He stops once he hears footsteps of another. Quickly, he scans around for a place to take cover behind. He decides to hide behind an old candy dispenser and turns off his flashlight.</p><p> </p><p>The footsteps halt, and he attempts to take a peek into the darkness. However, he sees nothing but blackness. “I know you’re there, Kyle! Show yourself!” He yells out. </p><p> </p><p>“Great idea,” Kyle calls from an indiscernible distance, “so you can shoot me in the front after you already stabbed me in the back?!” </p><p> </p><p>“You’re the one who stabbed me in the back, teaming up with my <em> dad </em>! That’s low, even for you, dude!” Stan yells, unwilling to turn on his flashlight that would give away his location.</p><p> </p><p>Kyle scoffs, standing still and waiting for Stan to counter, “Oh, even for me? The <em>only</em> <em>one</em> of your friends that got put on the other team?! I know you’re doing this for Kenny, but do you think I’m not gonna miss him too?!”</p><p> </p><p>Stan frowns, bowing his head down to his chest and releasing a defeated sigh. “No,” he says, “of course you will! But … you’ll be okay without him. What if I’m not? What if I miss him <em> too </em>much?”</p><p> </p><p>“Dude, of course you're gonna miss him too much, but doesn’t mean you’re not gonna be fine, too!” Kyle begins, adorning a frown of his own and lowering his gun for a moment—also feeling very strange speaking to <em> nothing </em> instead of his friend. “Kenny’s been the same person our entire lives, and that includes loving you more than anyone. That’s not gonna change. So when you get home, you’ll make the best of it. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”</p><p> </p><p>Stan blinks, trying his best to believe the words. Kyle is the smartest person he knows, and he <em> should </em>trust that he knows what he is talking about. He wishes he could not worry about it much, but every time he thinks of the separation his heart swells. </p><p> </p><p>In hopes to take Kyle off guard, he rises to his feet, and aims to the direction of his voice. Before he fires off, he says, “I know it won’t solve anything, not really, but I need to win this. For Kenny.” </p><p> </p><p>With that, he fires the shot. He misses, of course, shooting in the dark, but it will at least, hopefully prompt Kyle to do <em> something </em>to give himself away.</p><p> </p><p>Trying and failing to tap into the cold blood he is capable of, Kyle sighs to himself. He is still not happy about being left for dead with Cartman, but he can see (or rather, hear) that Stan is hurting. “Goddamn it,” he whispers to himself. </p><p> </p><p>He raises his flashlight and flips it on. Louder this time, he says, “Goddamn it!” to feign an accident. He waves the light around enough for Stan to get a sense of where he is before switching it back off and planting his feet, squeezing his eyes closed and preparing for the hit. </p><p> </p><p>Stan furrows his brows at the motion of light. He turns in the direction of the previous strobes of light and fires away — not taking any chances of letting Kyle get his shot. He turns his flashlight on afterward, and fires again, this time hitting him directly in the shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus!” Kyle winces, throwing a hand to the spot of contact. “That hurts worse than I remember!”</p><p> </p><p>Stan’s lips swipe up in a wide grin as he points his flashlight to his best friend’s scowling face. “Hell fucking <em> yeah! </em> ” Stan jumps in excitement, sure that his voice has carried all throughout the mall. “I fucking <em> got </em>you, dude! I didn’t think it’d be that easy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Congrats, asshole, you won a game you created the rules for.” Kyle grumbles, hiding his smile. He clicks on his light again and closes the gap between them. He waits for Stan to stop jumping before capturing him in a tight hug. </p><p> </p><p>Stan joyfully accepts the hug; a storm of emotions running through him ranging from his previous melancholy to complete euphoria from his triumph.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry I was in cahoots with your dad,” Kyle sniffs, oddly overcome with feelings as well. He shakes his head, inadvertently knocking it into his friend’s skull, “I didn’t enjoy any part of it.”</p><p> </p><p>Stan winces at the pain that cascades across his forehead from the collision, but laughs it off and pulls away from the hug. “It’s alright, dude. I should have expected it, but all’s fair in love and war, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“I guess,” Kyle sighs, peering back down at the splatter on his flannel. “This is definitely added to our long list of shared traumas.” </p><p> </p><p>“Hopefully, we’ll add less to that list now that we’re getting older, right? It has to get better.”</p><p> </p><p>Kyle purses his lips and wraps an arm around the shorter boys shoulders. “Sure, Stan. Now, let’s go find our stupid boyfriends and get the hell out of this dark ass mall.” </p><p> </p><p>Stan nods with a smile, ready to get some food in his stomach. As they head to the food court, he says, “Yeah, I want that dinner you owe me.”</p><p> </p><p>They continue walking until they hit the paint covered food court, shining their flashlights over the wreck. </p><p> </p><p>Craig stands on the outskirts of the wreck, scrunching up his face at Stan’s father who is currently laid down and making <em> paint angels. </em> When he notices the pair’s return, he strides over to them. As he gets closer, he lets out a yawn, and leans into Kyle, resting his head on the other’s. Kyle wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s middle—the most glad he’s been to be in Craig’s presence maybe <em> ever </em>. “Do you forgive me for pretending to break my ankle?”</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose, but I don’t know if I can ever fully trust you again, at least when playing paintball… or any other competition, for that matter,” he snickers to himself, burying his nose into his boyfriend’s curls. Even though it’s only been a day apart, it’s been a very <em> long </em>day, and he missed Kyle throughout it. </p><p> </p><p>Kenny remains where Stan last saw him last, but when he spots that the pair has arrived, he jumps up and runs over with a grin. The front and side of him are absolutely doused in bright red paint, revealing he was not as quick as Stan in jumping away from the blast of his father’s insane contraption. Stan grants him a wide grin and throws a single fist in the air. “Orange team is getting free food.” </p><p> </p><p>“Fuckin’ A!” Kenny exclaims, pumping his own fist and jogging over to his boyfriend. He goes to hug but stops mid-motion, aware of the globs of red that would be transformed to Stan’s untouched clothing if he continued. He settles on ecstatic smiles. “I know you could do it!” </p><p> </p><p>“I did it all for you,” Stan reminds him sweetly. </p><p> </p><p>“<em> No </em>,” Craig interjects curtly, releasing Kyle from his hold and stomping past them, “I am done with your chick flick moments, we’re leaving.” </p><p> </p><p>Kyle trudges behind him and flashes his light forward. Stan scoffs and takes strides toward his dad, who is now <em> talking </em> to himself, absolutely coated in paint. He exhales in deep disappointment, “Come on, dad, we need to leave.” </p><p> </p><p>“Just go on, son! The senator is on his way. Plus, I’m pretty high on paint fumes.” Randy replies, rubbing his moist hands back and forth. </p><p> </p><p>Before Stan can grow more upset or try harder, Kenny informs him, “This paint is non-toxic—I’m pretty sure he’s on an acid trip. Let’s just go. He needs to grab his work lights and generator anyways,” Stan gives him a look of confusion before that prompts him to finish the explanation, “It’s how they lit up the food court. Did Kyle mention he was the one who texted Randy to join us? And to bring all this shit,” </p><p> </p><p>Stan’s mouth falls, “That sneaky fucking bastard!” </p><p> </p><p>“Dude, don’t call him that, he’s Jewish! Have you learned nothing from the Museum of Tolerance?” Kenny jests. </p><p> </p><p>“Well it’s <em> true </em> !” Stan asserts before speed-walking out of the confines of the food court. He swiftly catches up with the two beams of light shining their way through the mall, and he seethes to Kyle, “You <em> invited </em> my dad?!” </p><p> </p><p>Kyle huffs, “Dude, I said I was sorry.” </p><p> </p><p>“For <em> teaming up </em> with him—not <em> inviting </em> him!” </p><p> </p><p>“Have we not passed the point of judgement, Stanley?” </p><p> </p><p>Craig interjects, “Yeah, I’m back on team Kyle, so I say shut the fuck up. If you really want to have this conversation, we’ll do it outside. Though, I’m sure you’ll slow us down with some kind of sappy soliloquy about how much you <em> adore </em> each other.” </p><p> </p><p>Kenny smiles sarcastically at the harsh words Craig spews and steps toward him, opening his arms, “You seem grouchy, dude. Need a hug?” </p><p> </p><p>“McCormick, so help me god, if you touch me, I will shoot you with a real gun.” Craig fires back, backpedaling with outstretched arms. </p><p> </p><p>“Relax, kidding,” Kenny assures, “let’s all chill out and rejoin reality, eh?” </p><p> </p><p>Though half remain reluctant, they press on, desperate to answer the calls of nature and hunger their bodies are screaming at them to address, and Stan takes the time to announce his victory (nobody responds). As they near the exit, Kenny nudges his boyfriend with an elbow and whispers, “Ready to run?” </p><p> </p><p>“What?” Stan wonders. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Craig,” Kenny spouts to obtain the taller boy's attention. When Craig turns to face him, he wastes no time, lunging forward and capturing their lanky friend in a swift up tight hug, effectively smearing red paint across his arms and torso. Just as quickly, he pulls away and shouts, “Go, go, go!” </p><p> </p><p>Stan and Kenny run off laughing together, hands entwined and Kyle stays behind with Craig, whose ability to react has been stunted by frustration. </p><p> </p><p>Kyle tries to not laugh at his boyfriend and the new blend of paint splattered across his attire. “I will talk to them about boundaries.”</p><p> </p><p>Craig just shakes his head, stepping forward, the only thing on his mind being the exit of this mall. “I honestly have zero fucks left to give.”</p><p> </p><p>Kyle allows his laughter to stumble out as he follows Craig and his two best friends ahead of them out the exit door. </p><p> </p><p>As they step outside, Kyle lingers behind with Craig as Kenny and Stan stroll in the direction of the car. The light of the full moon and and vastness of stars provides for more light exposure than they had inside the mall itself.</p><p> </p><p>Deciding he no longer needs his flashlight anymore, he turns it off, and just as he does so, he hears a voice call out, “forgetting someone?”</p><p> </p><p>The four recognize the voice immediately. Before they can even get a good look at the perpetrator though, he fires a shot, landing directly into Stan’s upper shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Ow!” Stan cries out, “what the fuck, dude?”</p><p> </p><p>“Aha!” Scott comes out from behind a bush on the side of the mall building. “I got you! I win! The blue team wins!”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck!” Stan throws his head back, yelling at the night sky. “God <em> dammit. </em>How did we forget about Scott?” Stan frowns.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, shit, I bet no one saw that coming.” Kenny raises his eyebrows. “Anymore plot twists of the night?” Kenny looks around, alternating his attention between the crowd.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck. Please God. No,” Craig mutters, rubbing his forehead. He turns his attention to Kyle, who stands, shell-shocked and eyebrows raised. Although, he does not look <em> happy </em> which is suspicious to Craig, considering he has tried <em> so </em> hard to win today. “Shouldn’t you be happy about this? You <em> won.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Kyle huffs out an aggravated breath, clenching his fists at his side. If Scott was just going to scoop in and take victory for the blue team, he wouldn’t have let Stan take him down. He forces a smile, and turns to Craig. “I’m <em> so </em>happy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Craig scoffs. “You seem like it.”</p><p> </p><p>Before Craig gives him away completely, a pair of flashlights coming from where their cars are parked grabs all their attention.</p><p> </p><p>As the pair of light orbs move in on them, the group places the faces as Cartman and Butters. </p><p> </p><p>And neither look very happy.</p><p> </p><p>“Malkinson!” Butters yells. “Now, I could have shot you, but I was taking out Cartman! I let you go, and how do you repay me? You shoot me, dead!” Butters and Cartman march straight pass the group, dialing in on Scott.</p><p> </p><p>Scott holds his hands up, “you were on the other team! That’s how the game works.”</p><p> </p><p>“It was a cheap shot!” Butters yells.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, Scott! Just because you have diabetes, doesn’t mean you can just go around, doing whatever you want,” Cartman adds.</p><p> </p><p>“Now, I don’t agree with Eric on much, but I can agree with that!” Butters scowls at the shorter male. “Now, Eric you hold em’ down, and I’ll punch em’.”</p><p> </p><p>Cartman grabs ahold of Scott’s hands as the boy tries to wiggle away, holding him in place for Butters. “I was on your team!” Scott yells to Cartman. “We won because of me!”</p><p> </p><p>“And you could have prevented from getting me out, you no good son of bitch!”</p><p> </p><p>From a few yards away, Stan and Kenny watch the scene with wide eyes. Kenny raises his eyebrows, turning his head to his boyfriend. “Should we do something?” He asks.</p><p> </p><p>Stan shakes his head, “nah,” he waves him off, “Scott deserves it, he’s the reason we lost, and besides, Butters can hardly throw a real punch.”</p><p> </p><p>The pair watches as Butters throws a punch, square into Scott’s jaw. Scott releases a whimper, and Cartman lets him go.</p><p> </p><p>Afterward, Butters turns to the group of bystanders with a wide grin. “Well, you fellas ready to get some dinner? Or <em> whatever’s </em>open at this time? My parents are probably gonna ground me forever, so I at least want one last good meal! Even if I gotta contribute to the pay!”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh,” Kenny looks up and down the parking lot, noticing the only cars left are the ones belonging to the people within the present group. “Well, first of all, where’d everyone else go?”</p><p> </p><p>“You really think everyone was gonna wait for you gaywads to finish your orgy?” Cartman addresses them.</p><p> </p><p>Butters holds out his hand, pushing down fingers as he counts off, “well, the girls all left together after Randy got em, Tweek and Clyde left together, I think Token took home the leftovers, and I think that pretty much settles it!”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait,” Kenny says, “so where is my sister?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shit,” Kyle says with wide eyes, “where is Ike? My mom is gonna kill me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Karen, Ike, and Tricia all left with Token, I think.”</p><p> </p><p>“Damn,” Craig shoulders slump, “I was hoping that Tricia got kidnapped or something.”</p><p> </p><p>Stan sighs. “Well, everyone can just meet us there then. Whatever. What is still open right now?” Stan pulls out his phone to eye the time and hopefully look up a nearby restaurant whose hours extend this late into the night.</p><p> </p><p>“Ya know, babe,” Kenny smirks, leaning into his boyfriend’s side, “I know a place that has late hours, good food <em> and </em>cheap prices, considering we’re the ones paying now.”</p><p> </p><p>Stan looks over to him with a cocked eyebrow. “Anywhere. It’s your birthday, baby. It’s completely up to you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Taco Bell,” Kenny grins.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>